


Adrift

by katsugenki, TheFlailing



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Soft Boys, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, both winter soldier, minor depictions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsugenki/pseuds/katsugenki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlailing/pseuds/TheFlailing
Summary: “There are so many stories about you, about how scary and strong and… robotic you are. The Winter Captain and Winter Soldier… people might not agree on whether you exist, or whether you should continue to be used or if you should be destroyed… but at the end of the day, you have this… like… mystique? Everyone only talks about how terrifying you are, how ruthless you are, and when I heard you’d be joining us for this mission, I thought, you know, ‘hey, they can’t possibly be as scary as the stories say,’ cause, like, that’s gotta be all blown out of proportion and exaggerated, right? But then like, it’s not and you are even scarier than all the stories put together – like I almost wet myself. And tonight, when you… when I… I thought, like, ‘this is how I’m gonna die’"-8-Hydra has been biding its time in the aftermath of a galaxy-wide war, brewing the shadows since its defeat. Among their arsenal, they have two secret weapons: the Winter Captain and the Winter Soldier. They are awoken to carry out yet another mission, to once more help Hydra shape the future, bringing their brand of peace and order to the far reaches of the galaxy.





	Adrift

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> This work contains descriptions of violence and mild descriptions of torture. There is also one scene that some people might consider dub-con that occurs between Bucky and Steve; please check the end notes for a more detailed description if you are concerned. We don't think it should be a problem, but we didn't want to take any chances, so we're putting in a gentle warning.
> 
> xxxxx
> 
> Arist's notes:  
> First and foremost, a huge shoutout to the mods over at CapRBB for organizing this event! This is my first time joining an RBB, and the experience has been amazing because of how responsive and patient you were with all of us. Thank you so much for all your hard work! Shoutout also to all the other participants for this year’s RBB, you’ve all done amazing!
> 
> Second, a big, BIG, HUGE thank you to my partner, Flailing, for choosing my piece and taking it to heights I never could’ve imagined (literally to space!). Each headcanon we traded and each draft you sent gave me the inspiration to create more, and your endless enthusiasm and encouragement gave me the energy to keep going. This is the most fun I’ve had creating art in a while and it wouldn’t have been possible without you. Thank you so, so much for making my first RBB so memorable; I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.
> 
> Finally, if you are here on this page and are reading this fic, thank YOU for your support! I hope you enjoy the journey!
> 
> -Katsugenki
> 
> xxxxx
> 
> Author's Note:  
> First and foremost, thanks to the amazing mods behind the scenes at CapRBB2019! They've done another amazing job running this fantastic event, and everything has gone so smoothly! Thanks for all your hard work!
> 
> Thanks also to my amazing Artist, Katsugenki! I fell in love the original piece you put up for the event, and I could not have imagined the collaboration we would have together! I loved all your headcanons about Both!WS and I had so much fun bringing it to life! Thank you for allowing my imagination to run wild, and allowing me to take the setting into space. I was so inspired by your art and you were so positive and encouraging throughout this whole process! I couldn't have done it without you, and I had so much fun! This is probably one of the best pieces I've ever written, and I'm so happy to have been able to share this experience with you! Also, thank you for ALL OF THE BONUS ART??? You're so talented and I'm so grateful for the opportunity to work with you!
> 
> And finally, thanks to the readers out there! We hope you enjoy this piece as much as we enjoyed making it for you!
> 
> -theFlailing

The sharp hiss of gas, a thousand different electronic beeps, and the rustle of fabric from several moving bodies echoed dimly throughout the room. From behind closed eyelids, the glare of fluorescent lights enveloped everything in white. The stale air tasted of bleach and ozone, burning ever so slightly with every shallow inhale.

He was lying down, upon a hard, flat surface. It was cold, and goosebumps covered his exposed skin. A dull pounding resonated through his mind, demanding to be felt.

In the distance, hard footsteps clicked aggressively across the floor, piercing through the atmosphere as they slowly but ominously approached. For several minutes, growing steadily louder, the footsteps drew ever nearer until they stopped, right beside him.

As though possessed, as though commanded by an unknown force, he opened his eyes.

Immediately, he was blinded by a flood of light, overwhelming his vision. Slowly, as the deluge of white began to recede, a figure began to take shape in front of him. Blinking away the blurriness, the scene sharpened.

A man stood over him, wearing a spotless lab coat over a finely pressed suit. He was old, his balding head fringed with a ring of wispy hair. His gleaming grey eyes peered though a pair of thick, round glasses, which sat upon his beak-like nose. Spots covered his wrinkled skin, which seemed to sag from the long bones of his face.

“ _Soldat_ ,” the man said; his voice was firm, but rasped at the edges. It was a familiar voice, one that burrowed deep into his skull, lodging itself into crevices within his mind and making him itch like grains of sand trapped beneath fingernails.

“ _Da_ ,” he replied, “Ready to comply.”

“Very good.”

He watched as the man nodded and slowly turned away, tilting his head to follow with his eyes as the man hobbled to a nearby table where another body was laid out. As he went, the man grasped a passing technician firmly by the arm.

“Is that the latest readout?” he rasped.

“Yes sir, Commander Karpov sir!” the technician squeaked.

The man peered at the technician’s clipboard for a few moments before muttering, “Very good, carry on.”

Two steps later, the man stood hovering over the table across the way.

“ _Kapitan_ ,” the man said, and that grave voice once more wedging itself into his mind.

The reply came in a deep, rich voice that also sounded familiar, but in an entirely different way. “ _Da_. Ready to comply.” The words washed over him, stirring up a torrent of emotions he could not comprehend.

“Proceed with calibrations,” the old man said, moving away.

A flurry of activity began; people in lab coats hurrying about carrying papers or instruments, buzzing over the chirping equipment surrounding them. Through it all, even as he was jostled into a sitting position, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the other man lying on the table across from him. Measurements were made and checks performed, all under the watchful eye of the old spectacled man, and yet still, he could not look away.

The man’s blonde hair was awash with the glare of the harsh sterile lights, and his skin was cast in a gray pallor. His wide, muscled shoulders and broad, powerful chest were bare and on display as he too was prodded upright. He seemed to sag forward, hunching over in a way that reduced the appearance of his hulking, bulky body. Gingerly, the man pressed one of his large, calloused hands to his face, but could linger merely for a moment before his arm was pulled away for more measurements. As his hand was drawn away, the man looked up and their eyes met across the chaos.

A heartbeat passed. Then two. He blinked. The man blinked back. The moment stretched into a minute. Everything else seemed to become dull and glossy, withering away until he was only aware of this man’s gaze and the quiet beating of his own heart.

He was broken from his stupor when he was prodded off his own table, landing somewhat unsteadily on his feet. He stumbled and broke eye contact, his vision landing on the cold, metal tiles under his bare feet. He reached out for the table to steady himself just as three pairs of gloved hands clutched at him; the sound of crunching metal drew his attention. The table had crumpled like tin foil under the grasp of his shining silver hand.

He blinked.

Once he was steady, the gloved hands retreated, and he stood straight. When he looked up, a pair of wide, crystal blue eyes looked back at him.

The man was also ushered from his own table, and soon they were standing side by side in the centre of the maelstrom, the eye in the midst of a storm. More hands moved their bodies this way and that as garments were pulled over his limbs; the soft, threadbare material slid over his numb skin and clung to his body.

“ _Kapitan_. _Soldat_.”

Instinctively, he turned towards the commanding voice of the old man, standing straight at attention.

“Commence decompression protocols; time allotment, eight hours. Mission briefing to follow. You will be escorted to quarters until then.”

“Affirmative,” they replied in unison.

“Dismissed.” The man turned away as a quartet of armed guards stepped up beside them.

Side by side, they were marched barefoot out of the room and into a narrow, brightly lit hallway. The wall opposite the room has small glass windows spaced out along its length. As they travelled down the corridor, he glanced through the glass and was greeted by black darkness dusted by the glittering light of the stars, stretching out into the void of empty space. As they were led through a maze of brightly lit tunnels, he counted the turns and noted the crossings until they reached an unmarked door. One of the guards entered a code into the keypad, and the door swished open.

The revealed room was small and sparse. A single cot was pushed up against the far wall, accompanied by a single pillow and worn blanket, and a toilet and sink occupied the opposite wall; nothing more.

The guards ushered them both through the threshold, and the door promptly swished shut, plunging them into the dark. Temporarily blinded by the consuming black, it took a minute before his eyes adjusted to the barest twinkle of starlight that streamed through a single small window, suspended above the bed like a faint halo.

Instinctively, he reached out to the man beside him, and the man reached back. Bodies collided clumsily but within moments, they were pressed close together. He found himself with his nose slotted into the crook of the man’s jaw, his fingers tangled in the back of his fraying shirt, and the man’s large, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Breathing in deeply, the scent of strong bleach wafted up from their clothes, but underneath the stinging harshness, he could smell something earthy and deep, a fragrance that he lacked the words to describe. His shoulders dropped an inch. He closed his eyes as he breathed in the man’s faint yet rich scent; as he inhaled, it permeated his soul, reaching deep down into the very depths like an anchor.

They stood together until his knees felt weak and his arms sagged. Gently, the man nudged them towards the bed. Neither of them willing to separate, they almost tripped with every step until they tumbled onto the hard, cold mattress in a pile of limbs. Quickly, he arranged himself with his back pressed against the wall beneath the window, and the man crowded close until they were touching from head to toe.

In the slide of arms and legs, he found his face close to the man’s face. The faint silver light illuminated the man’s clear eyes, the curve of his brow, the angles of his nose, and the line of his thin, pale lips. Reflexively, he leaned forwards until their lips met. The man’s mouth was warm; his eyes fell shut as they kissed, softly and quietly. Warm hands wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

Slowly, everything began to fade until the only thing that existed was the touch and feel of the man in his arms. And eventually, that too melted away.

-8-

A wave of pain swamped over him and his vision blurred. Blinking back the nausea, he tried to stand, but staggered and fell back onto the metal table with a heavy thump.

“No, no, no! Hold still!” a shrill, mousy voice commanded.

The screeching pain on his left throbbed like a burn. His head turned to the left, where his eyes landed on the stump of his shoulder, the entirety of his left arm gone. His eyes widened, and panic welled up inside him. Charred skin and muscle ringed the wound, from which blood still poured, soaking his black uniform and pooling on the table, dripping onto the cold, iron floor.

“Zola!” a commanding voice shouted.

“I’ve stabilized the Soldier for now, Karpov, but we need to get back to our facilities; I cannot do anything without my equipment!”

“The Winter Program is our key to victory! Why are you just letting our dreams bleed out on your operating table?!” the first voice barked, much closer now.

He blinked his eyes open and found two men standing over him. One man was taller than the other; he stood straight backed with his arms crossed behind him. His receding hairline gave him a large forehead, topped by wispy brown hair. The man regarded him with piercing grey eyes through a pair of thick glasses, perched upon a beak-sharp nose.

“If I can keep the wound open, I might be able to graft a mechanical replacement into the shoulder socket,” said the short man with the mousy voice. He was round, wearing a blood-soaked lab coat and gloved hands.

“Hm,” Karpov said, rubbing his chin.

“We can greatly enhance performance with a powerful cybernetic implant. Think of the possibilities!” squeaked Zola.

As the men regarded him, he could feel the air in his lungs become heavy, and no matter how much he gasped, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. His blood raced through his arteries, a staccato rhythm that pounded through his ears.

“Fine. But we can’t do anything about that now. The technology will need to be custom synthesized.”

“Correct. We’ll have to store it in cryo freeze until then.”

“We won’t be back at the ship for several hours,” the taller man growled.

“I will do everything in my power to keep it online until then,” Zola said.

“Good,” said Karpov as he turned. “And now, _you_ , Herr Zemo,” he spat with venom.

“Yes sir!” said a new voice. It was young and full of virility, belonging to a man who stood dressed in uniform just inside the doorway.

“What do you have to say for yourself?!”

“Sir, field conditions are subject to extreme variability and I-”

“Do no presume to patronize me, Zemo! You forget that I commanded in the field not so long ago. I know exactly how volatile fieldwork can be, so how do you explain the tremendous failure of this mission?!”

“The operation was not a complete failure! We managed to complete more than half of the original objectives!” Zemo replied angrily with a clenched jaw.

As the men faced off against one another, the mousy doctor continued to fuss over him, adjusting medical equipment and periodically making injections. The stump of his shoulder burned with pain, anchoring him into the moment.

“Not a complete-?!” Kaprov’s face began to turn red. “You request use of the Winter Program, the most sophisticated and effective weapon in our entire arsenal, and you return with what? ONE ASSET MISSING AN ARM, THE OTHER ASSET THROWN INTO A HYSTERIC RAGE THAT DECIMATED THREE ENTIRE HYDRA SQUADRONS, AND ALMOST EXPOSED OUR EXISTANCE TO OUR ENEMIES, YET YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO CLAIM THAT THIS MISSION WAS NOTHING SHORT OF AN UNMITIGATED DISASTER?” he bellowed.

Zemo flinched but gave no response.

Turning, Karpov stalked towards the medical table, his gaze fixed upon him. “Soldat, report! How did you lose your arm?”

“Plasma canon,” he replied between gasps.

“Where was _Zima Kapitan_?”

“Location unknown.”

Karpov’s eyes narrowed as he leaned over like vulture. “Why?”

“Separated,” he panted.

“How?”

“Ordered.”

Karpov’s face turned purple. “You,” he said, turning back to Zemo, “SEPARATED THEM? I gave you explicit instructions to never separate _Zima Kapitan_ and _Zima Soldat_ under ANY circumstances! You are a fool and a simpleton! These weapons are deadly, yes, but delicate! You would not use a neutrino laser as a battering ram, would you? Of course not! I did not spend the last decade sculpting these weapons, only for you to wave them about like a caveman would a wooden club!”

The tall man opened his coat, reaching into the breast pocket to withdraw a plasma pistol.

Herr Zemo’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said.

“Wouldn’t dare what? Shoot you in the head?” Karpov said as he leveled the gun. “Of course not. That would be too merciful.”

In one swift motion, Karpov lowered the barrel and squeezed the trigger. A flash of blue plasma shot from the pistol, and Zemo fell the metal floor clutching his leg. A hole burned through the thigh, right through the bone, blood beginning to soak the fabric of his uniform. Another shot, and a third, produced similar holes in Zemo’s shoulder and abdomen.

“You must be punished for your insubordination. I’m going to enjoy watching you bleed out on my floor,” Karpov said as he strode towards Zemo.

“You bastard,” the dying man spat.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the screaming,” Karpov said, placing one boot-clad foot on top of the nearest gunshot would and pressing down.

Zemo screamed, his voice echoing violently in throughout the small room. The screaming filled his ears, blocking everything out one by one, consuming everything in the room. He closed his eyes, trying to get it out of his head, but nothing could stem the sound. The deafening screams pierced his ears, penetrating his body until his throat grew raw and hoarse. It felt like he was screaming with every fibre of his body, strained to the brink for that single purpose.

A hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him hard, but still he continued to scream. He was shaken again, this time so hard that his whole body jerked, and his eyes flew open. Blackness enveloped him, and he could see nothing. Disoriented and gasping for breath, he was startled when his damp hair was swept away from his temple, followed by the gentle press of lips to his forehead.

“Wha-?”

“Shhh, Bucky,” said a low, calm voice.

“Who… hell… is Bucky?” he stammered between gasps.

“Bucky. I call you Bucky,” the voice replied, and the strong arms that held him tightened.

“Steve?” he said, the word falling from his lips on its own accord.

“That’s what you call me.”

Bucky inhaled deeply, and once more his companion’s deep, earthy scent filled his senses, grounding him. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his senses – his uneven, panicked breathing compared to Steve’s steady, rhythmic one; the erratic pulse of the blood through his veins; the course material of the blanket on his dry skin; the warmth of Steve’s body, his arms and legs enveloping him like a cocoon.

A minute passed.

Steve shifted. “Dream?”

Bucky nodded.

Steve hummed in response and drew him closer.

They lay together in the silence, wrapped around each other; the only sounds in the small cramped room were the rumble of the engines and the soft sound of their breathing. Time seemed to blend together, lost in the shadows.

-8-

A fist pounded against the metal, breaking through the tranquil darkness.

Both men stiffened; his eyes flew up to meet Steve’s clear blue ones. Steve wriggled back to give him room to move, and they hurried to stand from the bed. Just as they had gotten to their feet, the door swished open and he winced as harsh light flooded into the room from the corridor. In the doorway stood a guard in uniform, a plasma rifle clutched causally in her hands in a parade rest stance. The guard gestured for them to follow and began marching away.

With ramrod straight posture, Steve fell into step two paces behind the guard and he followed suit. Two more guards flanked them, and another two brought up the rear. On alert, he once more counted the turns and intersections as they were marched deeper into the battle cruiser; the cold metal floor stinging the bare soles of his feet as the heavy sound of their escorts’ boots echoed around them. At the start, their route backtracked the way they had come, but near the end, several different turns brought them to a heavily reinforced door tended by two more guards.

As they approached, the guards on duty nodded to the one at the head of their party and activated a switch. The doors opened and their escorts ushered them into a well-appointed office. The walls were lined with shelves, which held, to his surprise, actual paper books, their cracking spines and yellowing pages belaying their age. A grand, polished desk was situated near the back, facing the door. Behind it, the thin old man, Karpov, reclined in a large, cushioned chair. The man’s spectacles glinted in the overhead lights as he sat forward, his hands folded over his crossed legs.

Stepping forward, he stood at attention beside Steve.

“ _Zima Kapitan_. _Zima Soldat_.”

“ _Da_ ,” they both replied in unison, stamping their right foot on the hard floor in synchrony.

Karpov exhaled slowly. “We are currently en route to the XueTing system in sector 7.2489. Mission objective: assassination,” he said, tapping the glass screen mounted into the desk. The display flickered to life. With frail looking fingers, the man navigated through several folders. “One target,” he said as a profile opened onto the screen. “Hui Xu Liu, Minister of Internal Defense,” he said, pointing to the picture of a middle-aged woman.

“Affirmative,” said _Zima Kapitan_.

Nodding, the old man closed the profiles and brought up a map. “Minister Hui Xu Lui will be here,” he said, pointing to an official military looking building at the heart of one of the major cities. “Heavily guarded. Do not allow the assassination to be traced.”

“Affirmative,” the Captain replied again.

Sighing, Karpov reached for his cane, tapping his fingers on the round pommel in clear annoyance. Looking away, he seemed to stare of into the distance as he spoke. “You will be coordinating with other Hydra forces for this mission.”

Both he and his Captain waited in silence.

“Your mission is one part of a larger operation,” the man continued. “Operatives from Von Strucker’s Web of Spiders have been deployed in the system for over a month gathering information and manoeuvring into position.”

The press of a finger opened a new file. Twenty-seven profiles opened onto the screen, eleven of which were highlighted by a green boarder.

“We will arrive on the outer rim of the planetary system in three hours. You will deploy from the _Harbinger_ and rendezvous with field base of operations. The Spider operatives each have their own objectives to accomplish. In order to successfully destabilize the central government and spark the civil war we need, timing is paramount. If one piece moves too soon or too late, everything will unravel. Understood?”

“Affirmative,” he and his Captain replied.

“Very well. The Spider operatives will update you on field conditions and parameters; the coordinated operations are scheduled to begin five days from now; no extraction arrangements have been made. Complete mission parameters and rendezvous off-system, here in the minor asteroid field located in sector 7.3155, subsector gamma.”

“Affirmative,” he and his Captain replied again.

Karpov nodded. “Proceed to armoury and begin mission preparation. Dismissed.”

Both he and his Captain saluted in unison.

The door swished open behind them, and they were marched down the hall to the armoury. The guards entered with them, and under their watchful eye, the two men began their prep. One side of the room was set up with tall metal lockers lining one wall, filled with armour and garments, with two rows of benches in front for changing. The other half of the room was filled with row upon row of shelves piled with weapons.

Mechanically, he let his mind empty as his body automatically reached for his armour. First, the padding, followed by his matte black signature deflective armour. Pulling the plating over his right arm and chest, it was deceptively difficult to buckle all of the straps and clasps that held everything together. When he was done, he straightened up, sweeping his hair out of his face with his free hand.

The Captain had also just finished strapping in, and they regarded one another for a moment before silently moving on to the weapons cache. He fell into step behind the Captain as they walked towards the shelves, his eyes quickly checking over the Captain’s uniform as they went. Their outfits were essentially identical, the only real exception being that the Captain’s armour covered both arms, whereas his armour only covered his flesh arm, leaving his gleaming silver arm on display.

He went directly to the knives first, slipping them into the nooks and crevices in his armour. Satisfied with having emptied half the knives on display, he lifted a duffel bag and began filling it with his favourite weapons. Stalking up and down the shelves, he scrutinized each item before tucking into the bag. When he was done, he went back to the dressing area were the Captain was strapping his signature black shield printed with hydra insignia in the center – a red skull surrounded by red tentacles – onto his back.

The door swished open and Karpov stepped into the armoury, his cane grasped in one hand and the other clasped behind his back. The old man ambled over to the open lockers, setting aside his cane before reaching into one to withdraw a matte black helmet, emblazoned with the hydra crest on the front, and a black face mask threaded with silver.

“ _Zima Kapitan_ ,” he said, his raspy voice echoing in the silence.

The Captain stepped forward, and for a moment, he towered over Karpov like a brick wall looming over a child. Then, the Captain proceeded to moved down onto one knee, his head bowed. Carefully, Karpov slid the helmet onto his head, his soft, golden hair slowly concealed by the painted contraption. Once snugly in place, the Captain automatically raised his face, allowing Karpov’s spindly fingers to close the clasp.

Once he was finished, Karpov placed his palm on the helmet. “Hail Hydra,” he said quietly.

“Hail Hydra,” the Captain replied.

Karpov stepped back, and the Captain rose to his feet, retreating to the side to stand at parade rest.

“ _Zima Soldat_.”

It was his turn to move forward to kneel before the aging commander. With one hand, he swept his hair out of the way as Karpov lifted the black and silver mask to his face. The material settled over his nose and jaw, and he could feel the old man’s fingers grazing against his cheek and neck. The touch was cold, making him shiver; his skin crawled, and he closed his eyes against the sensation. Once the clasps were affixed at the base of his skull, he allowed his hair to settle back into place.

Karpov’s palm was dry and cold against his forehead as the man rested his hand on his head. “Hail Hydra.”

The words and the weight of the commander’s hand settled onto his mind like a thick fog, blanketing his senses. “Hail Hydra,” he responded, his voice muffled and warped by the mask.

Suddenly, the armoury doors swished open and hurried footsteps entered the room.

“Commander!”

“What?!” snapped Karpov as he removed his hand, reaching out for his cane.

Bucky rose and stepped back, positioning himself shoulder to shoulder with his Captain and resumed a parade rest stance.

“Sir, it’s Commander Von Strucker! He’s on the line and insists on speaking with you!” said the harried messenger, holding out a blank comm pad.

The old man growled through clenched teeth. “What does that fool want now?” he grumbled to himself as he snatched the pad from the messenger, who promptly saluted and retreated into the hall. Pressing a button, the screen flared to life.

“Well, well,” said a slightly distorted male voice from the comm pad. “Nice of you to actually make an appearance, Karpov.”

The old man huffed. “You’d do better to show respect to your superiors, Wolfgang.”

“Superior? You? How laughable.”

“Wolfgang, I did not know you were but a toddler; this petulant behavior should be beneath you.”

The man on the screen scoffed. “You think your petty insults make you clever, old man. I don’t have time to indulge your ego. Are your assets prepared? You know how important this is; there can be no mistakes.”

Karpov visibly rolled his eyes. “Of course my assets are prepared. The Winter program has been Hydra’s fist for almost a century; I’m not an amateur, like some people. Through my seminal work, Hydra has shaped the galaxy, and you would do well to remember that. I have an unblemished record; my assets have never failed a mission.”

“You think so highly of yourself, Karpov; your arrogance will be your downfall. Sure, your assets might have once been the crown jewel of Hydra’s arsenal, but that was decades ago. My Spiders are the way of the future, and all the Heads know it. Why don’t you just step aside, before you embarrass yourself?”

Karpov exhaled coolly. “Your Spiders are but a passing fad. Spies are unreliable and the investment is hardly worth the effort. You would do well to learn for your mentor’s mistakes. I trust that I need not remind you how much of a spectacular failure his Red Room program was.”

“Only because you sabotaged his efforts!” shouted Von Strucker.

“I did no such thing,” Karpov stated airily.

“There was evidence against you!”

“All circumstantial.”

A low growl came through the communicator. “Commander Fenhoff was thrice the man you could ever hope to be!”

Karpov sighed. “Is there anything you actually wanted, Wolfgang, or did you merely call to throw a temper-tantrum?” he said with barely concealed boredom.

The man on the other end cleared his throat. “In fact, there has been a slight change in plans. Your assets have been assigned two more targets; I’ve just sent you the details.”

A muscle in Karpov’s jaw twitched. “Very well. Of course, my assets will be able to accommodate these additional targets, despite the last-minute change in plans.”

Von Stucker grinned. “Excellent.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes. I’ll see you at the debriefing in six days.”

Karpov simply closed the connection and powered off the comm pad. “Insufferable brat,” he muttered.

-8-

The hum of the hyperdrive engines were loud, and he could feel the vibrations of the powerful thrusters through the hull of the ship. The small space was cloaked in shadows, hidden between two of the passenger decks of the large transport ship.

After a brief mission update, the departure from the _Harbinger_ had gone smoothly, and their small interceptor had easily slipped into the regular incoming inter-planetary traffic. They had abandoned their ship after arriving at the interstellar port located on one of the nearby moons and snuck aboard one of the planet-bound passenger transports. It was an old, rusting vessel, a public shuttle that had seen many noble years of service ferrying people between the moon and the surface of the planet below.

They settled in against the metallic hull as the transport broke from dock and began its journey. As the ship swayed, his Captain reached out, steadying himself with a gloved hand against his armour-clad chest.

As though reading each other’s minds, their eyes met in the darkness. His Captain leaned forward, closing the short distance between them until Bucky felt the hard, cold metallic helmet pressed gently to his forehead. Bucky closed his eyes and let out a sigh, his breath muffled by the thick mask.

They stayed crouched in the shadows, taking turns to drift in and out of consciousness as they patiently waited for the hours tick by.

When they began to enter the planet’s inner orbit, Bucky could feel the tell-tale shift in gravity that signalled their approach as the on-board gravity generators began to power down, allowing nature to take over. Atmospheric entry caused the whole ship to shake, and the battered transport groaned and shuddered the whole way down.

Finally, the old ship docked at their destination, and as the passengers began disembarking, the two assassins slipped into the port undetected. Bucky pulled on his goggles; the atmosphere of this planet was humid and the heavy, and the hot, wet, dusty air felt like it was pressing in on them from all sides as the two of them infiltrated their way into the city.

Although the XueTing system was more well established than the average outer sector colony, it still paled in comparison to the sprawling mega-metropolises that engulfed entire systems in the older, more developed regions of the galaxy. The pale amber sky was visible between the skyscrapers, and the wind blew up clouds of bright red dust as he followed his Captain through the back alleys and underground passages. In the distance, he could see amber, sand covered mountains on the horizon.

They weaved their way through the city, delving deeper into the jungle of spires. Finally, after travelling for several more hours, they reached a relatively well-appointed building in the heart of the downtown core. From the cover of a nearby waste receptacle, Bucky scanned their surroundings. Built in the style of the old, classical architectural style, it boasted a façade hewn predominantly from glass and stainless steel. A decorative steel canopy above the main entrance proudly proclaimed _Museum of Natural History_. The warm, orange rays of the setting sun glinted off the glass panels and illuminated the lobby, where crowds of people were moving about.

There was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to his Captain. Steve made a swift series of hand signals.

 _Loading bay; northwest corner; wait for inbound cargo_.

He nodded, and the two set off.

The sun was just setting as they infiltrated the museum, its fading light casting long shadows, and it made movement easier for them. The security system was laughable, and once inside the building, they had no problem accessing the restricted and secured areas undetected. Hydra had secretly established their base of operations on the twelfth-floor offices. Finding the main control room took no time at all. Such an enormous building required a complex ventilation system, and they were able to approach the command center from the ceiling, completely hidden from view.

Bucky peered through the thin metal grating to the rows of desks below them. There were about a dozen people in the room, most of whom were at one of the small, cubicle-like work stations. A good half of the stations looked habited but unoccupied; presumably their owners were off-duty. Off to the side, a janitor was emptying trash cans into his cleaning cart. At the head of the room, a large conference table had been set up, and a handful of people crowded over the files that were displayed on its screen surface.

Moving carefully, Bucky worked his way silently until he was directly above the conference table, his Captain close by his side. Five people were hunched over the table, all younger than the average Hydra agent, and well dressed. Silently, they observed the men and women as they moved files about, talking and motioning to each other occasionally as they worked.

Three of them were women; one had a fair complexion and brown hair, another had moderate complexion with black hair, and the third had her long hair tied up in a braid. The two remaining were men; one was tall and broad, and the other shorter with a lithe build. They were close enough to catch snippets of conversation, and from what they could hear, the tall one seemed to be the highest ranking of the five, as he seemed to be directing and ordering the others.

Bucky snapped to attention when the tail end of a sentence pinged his senses.

“…Karpov’s operatives will arrive?” said the woman with the braid.

“We got word from the commander that they’d been dispatched, so they should be here soon,” replied the light-skinned woman.

The stocky man scoffed. “Figures. It’s just like the infamous Karpov to be late. The Commander is right; the Winter program is outdated, and its Head is an overconfident fool.”

The lanky man frowned. “But Commander Karpov is an esteemed Head and I guess his program might be controversial, but I mean he’s still done a lot for Hydra and I’ve never met him, you know, I mean has anyone met him? I think Mattie worked with the Winter operatives that time we flipped the election in the Bulanian Union but I don’t think they ever-”

“Spider 616!” snapped their leader.

The subordinate flinched and immediately straightened, clamping his mouth shut and blinking rapidly. “Sorry, sir.”

Shooting him a glare, the leader scowled.

The woman with the moderate complexion flipped her hair and crossed her legs. “I can’t believe we’ve been saddled with these Winter Fossils. We’re more than capable of handling our own assassinations; I don’t see why we have to bring in these thugs to help.”

The leader stood. “Not all the Heads agree with our commander,” he said, a tone of bitterness in his voice. “But we’ll show them how spies are superior to assassins in every way. Commander Von Strucker is right - they are blunt tools that no longer work in a world that requires the finesse and precision.”

The woman with the braid rolled her eyes. “You say that like those Heads will ever listen to reason.”

The man shrugged. “If they want to keep clinging to their precious, clumsy, useless, and obsolete Wi-”

A swift punch with his mechanical arm caused the ceiling panel to explode into pieces; air rushed through his hair as he plummeted down into the room, landing on his feet with a heavy thud directly behind the standing leader of the group. A second, heavier thud in front of him harkened the arrival of his Captain.

The five people jumped to their feet, their hands reaching for weapons; several people screamed, and for a moment, the room was filled with the sounds of objects clattering to the floor and dislodged papers fluttering; something ceramic smashed to pieces.

Slowly, Bucky and his Captain rose to stand before the apparent leader, leaving indents in the floor where they had landed. The tension in the room was thick as _Zima Kapitan_ stepped forward, and although he was only marginally taller than their leader, his presence exuded power and strength in a way that made the other man seem like an errant schoolyard bully in comparison. The Hydra emblem was clearly visible on the Captain’s helmet, his shield, and the shoulder of his own silver arm; there was no doubt that every soul in the room knew who they were.

“Identify,” the Captain said.

For all his worth, their leader held firm, unwavering in the face of the combined might of the Winter program. “Winter Captain. Winter Soldier,” he said, his eyes darting from one to the other.

“Identify,” the Captain repeated, his voice his voice a low and threatening rumble.

“Spider 688,” said the leader.

The Captain moved his eyes to the next person on the left. “Spider 461,” she said.

“Spider 325,” said the woman with the braid when the Captain’s eyes moved to her.

“Spider 114,” said the last woman, her hand still on the blaster holstered at her hip.

“S-Spider 616,” said the final man.

A charged silence fell over the room. Nobody seemed brave enough to move, and all eyes seemed to be glued to the standoff at the front between the two assassins and the five master spies.

After a minute, the Captain spoke. “Update mission parameters.”

Spider 461 glanced around at the room full of watching eyes, then looked back at the Captain. “Conference room, this way,” he said, jerking his head towards the hallway before walking towards it.

The four other spiders fell into step with him, and after exchanging a look, he and the Captain followed. Casting their sharp, cold gazes around the room seemed to break the spell, and suddenly everyone became very busy. Agents returned to their desk, shuffling papers or items; one man crawled under his desk on the pretense of retrieving a dropped pen; none seemed willing to meet their eye as they passed.

None, that is, until they passed by the janitor, who was crouched by the edge of one desk. “Awww, mug,” he sighed as he swept up a pile of shards from the floor. He was the only soul who dared a glance in their direction; after a quick, furtive flick of the eyes, he quickly looked away, as though burned by the very image of them.

-8-

The briefing was short and terse, and Spider 688 staunchly refused to reveal any details outside of their mission objectives. They were quickly dismissed, and Spider 616 was tasked to lead them to their quarters for the next several days. The lithe operative led them stiffly down the hall, his posture betraying his nerves. Bucky again noted the turns and intersections they made.

Offices and meeting rooms surrounded them on all sides, and the corridor walls were lined with posters and notices. They passed very few people as they made their way to the back corner of the building: a woman speaking in hushed tones into a comm pad; a frazzled looking man carrying a bag of fragrant smelling food; the blonde janitor from the control room with a mop in hand; two women with cups of steaming liquid arguing over a report.

At last, Spider 616 stopped in front of a nondescript office door.

“This is y-you guys,” he said, gesturing awkwardly to the door.

In the briefing, he and the Captain had been able to get a read on the Spider operatives currently stationed at the headquarters, but this was the first chance that they’d been able to see any of them up close. Spider 616 was almost a head shorter than the Captain, his body lithe but compact, no doubt he was stronger than he appeared. His eyes were green, his hair wavy and brown. The light, cream complexion of his skin stood out against the dark shades of his casual civilian clothes, which made him look rather young. Bucky found himself wondering just how old this man was, and how long he had been in service of Hydra.

“You will be stationed here for the mission. Bri – I mean Spider 688 gave me orders to show you to the assassination sites tomorrow, so we’ll head over and check them out if you want, it shouldn’t take too long so we can go whenever you want, cause I think I’m ahead on my other assignments so if you wanna sleep in you can, I mean, that is if you even need sleep?”

Bucky blinked. Spider 616 spoke very quickly, the tumble of words falling from his mouth like water gushing from a broken pipe. Beside him, the Captain raised and eyebrow.

“I… uh… okay, this is awkward, so I’m just, gonna, like, go,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “I’ll come get you tomorrow morning and we can head out, okay?”

When neither of them answered, Spider 616 took a step back. “Oookay, I’ll take that as a yes… so… I’ll just…” He grimaced once and then spun around, retreating quickly down the hall.

Once the operative was out of sight, the two men turned to the door before them. The Captain reached out, carefully turning the handle, the subtle sound of creaking springs ensuing. The door opened into a tiny office space, barely larger than a closet. The wall opposite the door housed two large windows, which would have presumably looked over the back alley, had they not been taped over with old, yellowing papers. A thin mattress was pushed into the corner beneath one of the windows, and a small side table sat beside it. Twilight had fallen, diffusing the room with the colour of the darkening blue sky.

The two men stepped into the room, the door clicking closed behind them. Bucky sat down on the night stand and dumped the duffle bag of weapons and supplies that he had been carrying onto the floor beside him. Looking down at his armour, he thumped his gloved hands on his chest plate, causing a fine cloud of dust to erupt from it. Scrunching his nose, he began undoing the clasps holding it in place; the long day of travel had left them coated in a layer of dust and grime, which would hinder their movement and efficiency.

The Captain began doing the same, and they both undressed in silence, two piles of armour forming beside them as they went. When all but their headpieces had been removed, Steve turned to look Bucky in the eye. Gesturing him forwards, Steve came to stand between Bucky’s legs. Reaching up from his seated position, Bucky deftly unclasped Steve’s helmet and tossed it to the side, cupping the man’s strong jaw in his hands as Steve’s clear blue eyes fell closed.

They breathed together for a moment before Steve knelt in front of him. Gently, Steve trailed his fingers along his neck, brushing the exposed skin beneath the heavy mask, following the curve of the material until his hands met at the base of Bucky’s skull. The buckle came undone with a soft click, and then the mask too was tossed aside.

Steve dropped his left hand to rest on Bucky’s thigh as his right hand came up to brush the hair from Bucky’s face, his fingers ghosting over the shell of his ear. Bucky sighed, his eyes drooping closed as he leaned forward until his chin bumped softly against his partner’s forehead. He traced Steve’s sharp cheekbones with his flesh hand, running his fingers through the man’s short blonde hair and down until it rested in the crook where Steve’s neck met his broad, wide shoulders.

They spent a full minute, silently breathing each other in, before simultaneously moving apart in some unspoken agreement.

Digging through the duffle bag, Bucky retrieved a bottle of water and a rag. Working side by side, they carefully cleaned off each piece of armour. They moved swiftly and efficiently – without their armour in the field, they were exposed and vulnerable. As soon as they were complete, they strapped back in.

Night had fallen, and the light from the street was muted by the paper covered glass. Bucky sat on the mattress with his back against the wall, to the side of the windows and with a clear view of the door. He would have the first watch. With a nod, Steve lay down between Bucky’s open legs, pillowing his head on his arm.

Bucky placed one hand on Steve’s face.

Steve closed his eyes.

As Steve drifted off to sleep, Bucky allowed the rhythmic ebb and flow of Steve’s steady breathing sooth him, anchoring him as he emptied his mind.

Sitting still as a statue, time began to blur as the minutes dripped by, collecting into pools that turned into hours.

Bucky was pulled to attention, surfacing from his meditative watch by sudden movement.

Steve shifted, rolling in his sleep. His eyes moved beneath his closed lids, his lips moving as they form ghost words, evaporating into the air before they could be voiced. Bucky sat straighter and removed his gloves. With gentle pressure, he caressed the only small patch of skin on Steve’s face, but to no avail. Steve continued to shift, his movements increasing until he was thrashing about on his back.

With his heart in his throat, Bucky gently shook Steve’s shoulder.

With a jerk and a gasp, Steve’s eyes flew open, his hand flailing for purchase until they found and grabbed hold of Bucky’s legs.

“Shhh, Steve,” Bucky whispered, trailing his fingers across Steve’s exposed nose and cheek.

“Wha?”

“I’m here, Steve.”

“Bucky?” Steve said, tilting his head back until he could see.

“That’s what you call me,” Bucky replied.

Steve exhaled, loosening some of the tension in his body. “Bucky.” Carefully, Steve rolled over onto his knees, sitting up until they were at level height.

“Dream?” Bucky asked through the mask that covered his face.

Steve nodded, leaning forward to press his lips against Bucky’s exposed forehead.

Bucky settled his hands onto Steve’s narrow hips. He knew that Steve wouldn’t be able to get any more sleep, and as expected, Steve offered to take the watch to allow Bucky to rest. After an awkward shuffle, they reversed positions, and Bucky closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep with the feeling of Steve’s fingers gently stroking through his hair.

-8-

The next two days were filled with reconnaissance. Spider 616 had led them to the three assassination sites on the first morning. The spy had walked through the crowd dressed in regular civilian clothes, hidden in plain sight while Bucky and Steve followed, hidden in the shadows. He talked constantly as they moved, the moderate timbre of his voice spilling from their earpieces throughout the excursion. He babbled about nothing and everything, and from his nervous chatter, they learned about how their role in the operation fit in with the other moving parts.

Mostly, however, they were confined to the hallways and offices at the Hydra headquarters. In the idle hours, they observed the staff and agents, watching and listening. The Spider operatives they met on the first day were joined by other Spider operatives, all of them coming and going, coordinating their plans and making adjustments as the fifth day drew nearer.

It quickly became apparent that Spider 616 was unlike the rest of his colleagues. Where the other spiders were wary and suspicious whenever they were within detection, Spider 616 was nervous and fidgeted. When they observed from the shadows, the Spiders seemed move and speak with ease, and they all held a natural charisma that allowed them to seamlessly move through a crowd without being noticed; they were masters at being charming yet utterly forgettable. Spider 616, however, seemed to achieve that forgettable result through an entirely different means – where the other Spiders were smooth talking and amicable, 616 was somewhat clumsy and awkward, diverting attention away from himself by making others marginally and imperceptibly uncomfortable. Even when among his peers, Spider 616 seemed out of place. None of the other Spiders actively sought him out, and they often found him excluded from conversations between themselves.

On the third night, after the day’s activities were complete and most of the agents had left headquarters, Steve and Bucky were in their room. Still clad in their full armour, they were sitting with shoulders touching on the mattress. Neither was quite ready to lay down to rest for the night, and so they were simply holding hands and listening to the sounds of the city – the hum and whoosh of passing hovercrafts, honking of horns, the bustle and chatting of late night party goers.

A muted cry from within the building caught their attention.

Bucky looked at Steve, whose eyes hardened in the dim light.

Giving Bucky a terse nod, they both got to their feet and crept into the deserted hallway. It was dark, the lights having been turned off several hours ago, and nobody was in sight. Straining his ears, Bucky stood still, trying to discern what had caught their attention only moments before.

After a few minutes, a new sound reached their ears: a soft groan, and the sounds of moving cloth. It was coming from a couple doors down the hall. Moving silently, Steve led the way and paused in front of the door, from whence the sounds came.

Crouched in a ready stance, they waited again, poised on either side of the closed door. The soft murmur of a voice came, sounding strained and in pain, followed by the sounds of shifting limbs and cloth.

Bucky reached for the door handle, but Steve caught his wrist.

 _Wait_ , said his expression.

Bucky nodded.

The shuffling continued, becoming louder and more pronounced as the murmurs were punctuated by gasps, the voice rising in strength and distress. The sound of the struggle built like a crescendo until they heard a sharp cry of pain, followed by the haphazard thump of a body and limbs hitting the floor.

Bucky looked at Steve, and in one swift motion, Steve threw open the door as Bucky swiveled to block the opening. Barely enough light from the hall leaked into small office revealing a small and rectangular room with windows taped over with old papers, just like their quarters. One side of the room held a desk, with a lamp and a chair. An old, molding mattress had been heaped onto a rusting bed frame in the other side of the room, and on the floor beside the bed, a man lay tangled up in the folds of a thin blanket.

The man’s head snapped up at the sudden opening of the door. Flailing wildly to disentangle himself from the blanket, the man scrambled back, pressing himself into the corner of the room. His forehead was covered with beads of sweat, his short, wavy brown hair dripping with it. The thin shirt and hole-ridden pants he wore were also drenched with dark, wet patches of sweat. Large bags hung under his large, panic filled brown eyes, and he was panting, his breaths shallow and erratic.

For a moment, he stared at the two intruders, and Bucky and Steve stared back.

It was Spider 616.

Steve was the first to move, taking a tentative step into the small room. He looked around as he entered, surveying the space as he went. Bucky entered cautiously behind him, poised to strike at a moment’s notice if needed.

Watching from the corner, Spider 616 drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his shins. When there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger, Steve and Bucky turned their eyes on him.

Spider 616 was still gasping for breath, his skin pale and waxy in the dim light. His dark, wet hair was plastered to his face and neck, and he watched them with fear etched into his expression.

When Steve took a step towards him, Spider 616 shrank into the corner even further, hunching down and making himself as small as he could.

Steve turned to Bucky, a frown on his face. Looking at Bucky, he flicked his eyes to the door, and Bucky moved to close it. The room was small, and with the door closed, it felt claustrophobic.

Spider 616 whimpered quietly when the lock clicked into place. The fear in his face grew into full blown terror, a terror that seemed to sweep through him and he trembled as tears began to form in his eyes.

Moving slowly, Steve crouched down in front of Spider 616 until they were at eye level. Carefully, he unclasped his helmet and pulled off his gloves, placing them to the side. Then, Steve reached out to place a hand on the other man’s shaking knee.

Nothing happened; the seconds ticked by, marked only by Spider 616’s shallow, rapid breaths.

Steve kept his eyes locked onto the man before him the whole time. After a few minutes, he must have seen a something change, because he began to move. Shifting forwards, Steve carefully scooped up Spider 616 is his arms and carried him towards the bed. As Steve settled on the creaking cot with his back against the wall, Bucky couldn’t help but notice how young the small operative looked.

Carefully, Steve nestled Spider 616 sideways between his legs and drew him into his broad chest, wrapping his strong arms around the boy’s thin frame, cradling his head against his chest.

After a moment, Spider 616 squeezed his eyes shut, his hands flying up to grasp Steve’s forearm in a white-knuckled vice grip.

Removing his mask and gloves, Bucky knelt on the bed in front of the boy. With his flesh hand, he brushed the wet locks of hair from his face, trailing his fingers behind his ear and down to his throat, where he could feel the boy’s racing pulse.

Spider 616 opened his eyes at the touch, and they locked gazes.

“Dream?” Bucky asked, his voice low and quiet.

The boy’s eyes widened in surprise. After a moment, he nodded in response.

Gently, Bucky pried one of his hands away from Steve’s arm, cradling it against his chest plate. “Breathe,” he said, exaggerating his inhale and exhale.

Spider 616 attempted to match Bucky’s pace, and slowly, the tension began to bleed out of his body. Eventually, his breathing and heartrate slowed to a regular level, and the sheer panic began to recede from his eyes.

Bucky released his hand, but before he could let go, the boy grabbed at Bucky’s fingers.

A small smile touched Bucky’s lips, and he gave the boy’s fingers a small squeeze.

Looking up through wet eyelashes, the corners of Spider 616’s eyes wrinkled as he smiled back.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice wet and slightly raw.

Bucky nodded.

Steve shifted and dropped his arm.

Spider 616 leaned back to look at him. “Thank you, guys,” he said. Letting go of Bucky, he rubbed his face with his hands.

Steve nudged the boy’s leg with his foot playfully in response.

Several moments of silence passed between them.

“You… aren’t what I expected,” Spider 616 said quietly, looking back and forth between the two assassins. “There are so many stories about you, about how scary and strong and… robotic you are. The Winter Captain and Winter Soldier… people might not agree on whether you exist, or whether you should continue to be used or if you should be destroyed… but at the end of the day, you have this… like… mystique?

“Everyone only talks about how terrifying you are, how ruthless you are, and when I heard you’d be joining us for this mission, I thought, you know, ‘hey, they can’t possibly be as scary as the stories say,’ cause, like, that’s gotta be all blown out of proportion and exaggerated, right? But then like, _it’s_ _not_ and you are _even scarier_ than all the stories put together – like I almost wet myself when you dropped into the control room _from_ the ceiling that first day, and when we went out scouting, it was so freaky how you just like, _melted_ into the shadows and appeared out of nowhere…

“And tonight, when you… when I… I thought, like, ‘this is how I’m gonna die,’ like you guys are _so fucking scary_ , but then…” he trailed off falling silent for a moment. “And nobody ever… I… I didn’t think…”

He took a deep breath.

“I… you probably don’t want to hear this but… I was ten when Hydra got me. I don’t remember much… from before. Just the training. When they… punished us. They used to…” he swallowed audibly. “They made us… hurt each other and…” A shudder. “Sometimes dream about it,” he said, his eyes closing.

Bucky felt a strange ache in his chest. He reached forwards, cupping his hand around Spider 616’s face and gently wiping the runaway tear from his cheek as Steve also reached up, brushing his hair away from his forehead.

“Sorry,” he said, sniffing quietly.

“Killing,” Steve said.

“W-What?” Spider 616 said, his voice hoarse.

“We dream about killing people.”

Bucky nodded. “Faces. Blood. Screaming. Can’t stop. Want to, but can’t.”

“R-Really?” asked the boy, looking between them.

“Yes. They taunt us. We… don’t know who. But. They are.”

“Dreams… us too. Not just you,” Steve said softly.

Spider 616 grabbed onto their hands, holding on tightly. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“But sometimes, only sometimes. I dream about him,” Bucky said, flicking his eyes to Steve’s face. “On lucky nights.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “You do?”

“Mhmm.”

“Me too,” Steve said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Is it… from before…?”

They both shrugged.

“Maybe. Some before. Some after.”

“Don’t know. We don’t remember.”

“Oh.” Spider 616 became pensive for a moment. “I don’t remember… before either. Only… one or two things. I remember my name though. I was called Peter.”

“Peter,” Bucky said, rolling the letters about on his tongue.

“Yeah,” Peter said, nodding. “I know some of the other Spiders’ names too, but nobody likes to use it. They all prefer their code numbers, but…”

Bucky shared a look with Steve, and found approval in his eyes. “I… I call him Steve,” he said.

“R-Really?” Peter said, his wide eyes flying to Steve’s face.

“Yes. I call him Bucky.”

Peter looked between them, his grip on their hands tight as he seemed to process this information. “Steve and Bucky,” he said slowly. “Wow. Okay. That’s… that’s amazing, thank you! I promise I won’t tell anyone! I can keep a secret.”

They nodded.

Peter smiled, a bright thing that lit up his face, and the goodness of it almost blinded Bucky. But the smile quickly turned into a gaping yawn, and as Peter stretched, he could see the telltale signs of exhaustion.

“Sleep,” Bucky said. “Rest.”

“You need it,” Steve added, when Peter looked like he was going to protest.

“Okay,” he said with hesitation.

“We’ll stay,” Steve said, and the hopeful look Peter gave them did strange things to the ache in Bucky’s chest. Going by Steve’s expression, he was feeling the same.

“Lie down,” Bucky said softly, and Peter complied.

Just as Peter was getting comfortable, Bucky heard a soft clunk.

All three men sat alert.

The noise sounded like it had come from the air vent, above the door.

Bucky grabbed the chair and moved it to the door, standing on it to peer into the grate. In the darkness, he couldn’t see anything. Retrieving a small flashlight from its hidden place in his uniform, Bucky shone the light into the metallic tunnel. It was square and small, barely large enough for a person’s head to fit through. Shifting the light back and forth, he found nothing out of place.

Stepping down, Bucky placed the chair back at the desk.

“What was it?” Peter asked as Bucky crawled back onto the bed.

Bucky shrugged.

“Probably a rat,” Peter said with a shiver, and then lay back down.

There were no other sounds, and as the minutes ticked by, Steve and Bucky relaxed again. Whatever it was, it was gone. As they watched Peter drift back to sleep, Bucky was surprised by the protectiveness that welled up in him, a protectiveness that, while not as strong, he had only felt towards Steve.

As though reading his mind, Steve leaned over, brushing a gentle kiss to Bucky’s lips.

Sighing, Bucky returned the kiss. They sat together on the bed like that, trading soft kisses and tastes until they became tired. It was Steve’s turn to take the first watch, so Bucky sleepily lay his head on Steve’s shoulder, getting as comfortable as he could despite the stiff armour they were wearing. Shortly after, he too fell asleep.

-8-

The small diner was busy tonight, and as the blonde man ducked into the kitchen, he almost knocked over two cooks and a pot of boiling soup. One of the servers glared at him. Apologizing, he tried to weave between stations, scurrying to the back. Rolling his eyes, the serves made a _hurry up_ gesture to the man and picked up a tray laden with food.

Slipping into the store room, the blonde man sagged. The loud sounds of the busy kitchen filtered through the door as he hunched down, pulling out his comm pad.

“Okay, sorry, I’m secure now; nobody’s gonna overhear.”

An exasperated sigh came through the line. “Why didn’t you wait to make the call until _after_ you were secure?”

“I don’t have much time, okay? I thought it would be faster like this. Anyways, as I was saying, my instincts were right. They’re planning something big, Nat, and I need backup.”

“I’m not falling for that again.”

“No, seriously! Hydra’s gearing up to make a big move, and it’s gonna happen soon!”

“Clint, the Hydra cell in the XueTing system wasn’t even established until two months ago; they barely have a presence in that entire sector, let alone that system. There’s nothing of value in those colonies, so forgive me if I’m a little skeptical.”

“Look, I don’t get it either, but all I know is, there’ve been a steady stream of Hydra agents through HQ in the last few weeks, and they’re on the move.”

“I’m gonna need more proof than that if you want me to convince Fury to approve any sort of reinforcements.”

“You want proof?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Okay,” said the man. “I… I saw them.”

The voice on the comm sighed. “Saw who?”

“The Winter Assassin!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the voice replied, clearly annoyed. “Is that the best you can come up with? Clint, you know the Winter Assassin is a myth, right? A fairytale that senior agents tell the new recruits to keep them in line. It doesn’t exist.”

“I thought so too, _until_ they jumped through the ceiling right in front of me! I’m telling you, I saw them with my own eyes! Both of them!”

“Barton, you’re losing it if you think-”

“No listen to me! There are two of them! That’s why we have so many conflicting eyewitness accounts! The Winter Assassin isn’t one person! It’s a team of two! They called them the Winter Captain and the Winter Soldier! One’s got the metal arm and the mask with goggles, and the other one has the shield and helmet!”

“…which one had the long hair?”

“Winter Soldier. His hair was dark and almost to his shoulders, and the other one- Wait, how did you know one of them had long hair? None of the reports- WAIT, DOES THAT MEAN YOU BELIEVE ME?”

“I’ll be there in two days.”

“Two- You’re coming?! Here?”

There was a click, and he was greeted by silence.

“Hello? Nat?”

No response.

-8-

The hot afternoon air pressed against his exposed cheekbones and whipped his long hair about his head as they ran at superhuman speed across the rooftops. Jumping from one building to another, their heavy footsteps were swallowed up by the busy city sounds around them.

Two targets down, one to go.

Vaulting over a ventilation duct, leaping across an alleyway hundreds of meters below, then sprinting across another rooftop penthouse; his mind focused on each obstacle, the immediacy of each obstruction, one after the next. Under all the heavy layers of armour, he was sweating from the breakneck pace.

Finally, the imposing government building that had once been in the far distance suddenly rushed up to meet them. Slowing to a halt, the Captain melted into a crouch, and he took up a position beside him. Blood pounding from the sprint, he willed his body to be still.

A constant stream of voices streamed into his ear through the earpiece like a cascade, the comms full of sounds vying for attention. Updates poured in from all moving parts of the mission, each operative but a single organ in the living, breathing, moving beast that was the operation at hand.

Bucky’s ears perked up as a familiar voice fluttered through the comms.

“Spider 616 to central command: final mission objective complete,” he said, his voice somewhat distant and choppy through the connection. “Evidence successfully planted, and all alibis are in place. Commencing retreat.”

“Central command to Spider 616: good work. ETA?”

A pause.

“Unknown. Planned escape route is compromised; advise?”

“Affirmative. Disruption caused by Spider 114’s mission objection was unexpectedly diverted towards the Financial district; proceed towards the river and re-route through the Factory district.”

“Got it. Spider 616 out.”

Turning, he found the Captain’s face close, and they shared a brief moment of relief, but it was short-lived; the infiltration window was about to arrive, and they had only a few minutes to get into position before the opening closed behind them.

The Captain’s eyes became hard and resolute, a determined expression set into his features.

With a nod, they took off again.

Down the side of the building, into the alleyway; a manhole cover lifted aside, and then into the darkness of the sewers.

A maze of tunnels, the air thick and humid with decay; the miasma of excrement permeated everything. Shafts of light from the street above lit the way as they navigated the passages, the sound of splashing of water nipping at their heels as they ran. Weaving through the labyrinth, until finally they reached a locked door. It was heavy, closed firm.

He checked his watch, and the Captain did the same.

23 seconds.

Time was drip and trickle of water, the rumble of traffic overhead, the faraway echoes of movement.

And when the time hit zero, there was an audible click.

The Captain moved swiftly, hefting the unlocked door open for the two assassins to rush in. The door clicked locked behind them, but they were in.

Crawling into the nearest vent, they carefully, painstakingly manoeuvred through the building, completely hidden, until they reached their perch: a hidden alcove beneath a walkway that overlooked the main lobby.

And now, the wait.

The final target was due to walk through the front doors in forty-seven minutes.

One bullet, and then their mission objectives would be complete.

Folding themselves into the small, shadowed space, the and the Captain settled in for the wait.

Bucky attentively sifted through the buzz of communications, keeping tabs on the progression on all fronts; such a complex mission as this meant that one small change could have massive consequences on the other moving parts.

It seemed to be moving smoothly; any disruptions were quickly corrected elsewhere in the plan. Hydra had been flooding sewing dissent among the people and the media, pouring proverbial gasoline onto the local tension for months, and today, the spark had been struck. Everything had exploded into flames: as news broadcasts focused on the protests which had descended into violent riots, behind the scenes, government fail-safes were crumbling, and chaos spread across the planetary system like the billowing plume of dust from a volcanic eruption.

A glance at the time: thirty-one minutes until expected arrival.

He was settling into a calm, that tranquil zone where there was no thought, only action and reaction, when Spider 616’s voice crackled over the comms again.

“Spider 616 to Central command, Factory district is a no-go; local law enforcement has set up a barricade and movement is highly restricted.”

“Copy that. Re-trace your route and we’ll find you another way back. Stand by.”

“They’re doing security checks and tensions are rising, I don’t know if I’ll be-”

The sound of an explosion sounded in the background, followed by distant screaming. Bucky tensed at the sounds of a physical struggle, followed by the crackle of a dropped mic, and then a burst of static.

A soft crunching sound; Bucky looked down to find the metal railing he had been holding, crushed under his grip. He looked up.

There was a hint of fear in the Captain’s eyes, a look that consumed Bucky’s attention. In the background, they could hear Central command trying and failing to re-establish contact with their operative.

The Captain began to rise from his crouched position.

Bucky reached out, grasping him by the forearm. They could not abandon their post.

The Captain exhaled slowly, and then placed his hands onto Bucky’s shoulders. A plea.

Bucky shook his head slightly, his heart leaping into his throat. It was madness. This was insane. Defy orders? The thought of a mission failure made his blood run cold and turned the air in his lungs to ice.

“Peter needs us,” said the Captain, his voice soft.

Bucky pointed down to the foyer, where their target would be arriving shortly.

The Captain’s eyes darted to the entrance, the door through which their target would enter, where a single shot would go, and then to Bucky’s eyes, weighing one against the other. The situation was escalating all over the system and every passing minute could be the difference between saving Spider 616, or finding him beyond their reach – or worse, finding a corpse.

A moment passed.

The Captain rose to his feet, and Bucky rose with him. Leaning forwards, the Captain closed his eyes and touched his forehead to Bucky’s.

 _Together_.

Bucky closed his eyes, brushing his fingertips over the exposed skin of the Captain’s jaw.

 _I trust you_.

Moving apart, the Captain reached for the bag of weapons, taking from it a grenade launcher and giving him a questioning look.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. That might work.

As quickly as they could, the two of them the explosives into the launcher and hooked it up to a timer. Carefully, they aimed secured the launcher in place, aimed straight at the entrance, and after triple checking their makeshift rig, they melted back into the underbelly of the building.

As they raced back into the city towards Spider 616’s last known coordinates, Bucky could feel his organs trying to crawl out of his mouth. To think about the possible consequences of a mission failure, he pushed his body harder, trying to focus on the feeling of concrete beneath his boots and the burn of acid in his muscles instead.

Partway to the Factory district, their timer beeped quietly in his ear, and he shared a quick glance with his Captain. Either their impromptu workaround had worked, or it didn’t. They wouldn’t know until they returned to the _Harbinger_. Bucky moved faster.

The Factory district was in complete pandemonium; several buildings were on fire, vigilantes and law enforcement alike were running amuck, plasma shots and explosives were flying in all directions. They approached Spider 616’s last broadcasted coordinates with increasing dread.

They arrived in the shadows of a nearby alleyway, the air laden with smoke and the sounds of weapons firing. Just outside the mouth of the passage, almost hidden amongst the growing rubble, Bucky spied the crushed remains of Spider 616’s comm earpiece and tracker.

He pointed it out to the Captain, who nodded grimly. There was a splash of blood beside the ruined devices. Darting forward, the Captain crouched down to inspect what was left. There was a trail through the ash, leading away and into the building across the street.

A lead.

They flowed into motion.

One thing led to another, they dodged between skirmishes as they carefully followed a trail of clues across the district: a dropped shoe, a scrap of cloth torn from a familiar shirt, a few more drops of blood, a stack of empty plasma rifle magazines and a couple of civilian bodies. They traveled deeper into the industrial jungle, hidden amongst towering warehouses and factories billowing with activity.

They approached a series of storage buildings; the fourth one in the row had the lock blown out of the side door. Swiftly, they climbed up to the roof to look for an alternate entrance. Bucky found an open window that led into an unattended room – the perfect entry point. As soon as they were inside, they knew they were at their destination.

The power had been cut, plunging the interior into shaded darkness. Creeping through the shadows, they swept the empty building for any signs of life. The top two floors were abandoned, but on the third one down, a light at the end of a dark corridor put them both on high alert. It was coming from what appeared to be a large conference room.

Slipping into the room beside it, Bucky reached into their bag of weapons to retrieve a small drill and a camera probe. The drywall separating them was thin, and he picked a spot in the corner, near the floor, and carefully, quietly bore through to the other side and then slipped the camera into the hole.

The large conference table that had once stood in the centre of the room had been used to barricade the door, along with several chairs and other pieces of furniture. Shutters had been drawn across the windows, and in the centre of the room, a battery powered lamp sat on the floor. At the far end, Spider 616 had been gagged and tied to an uncomfortable looking metal chair, surrounded by six heavy armoured military personnel. Blood trickled out of the corner of is mouth, and his right eye was swollen shut.

Reaching back into the bag, he took out a pair of heat vision goggles. Bucky pulled them on, and the Captain handed him his plasma rifle. As he adjusted the googles and loaded his rifle, the Captain took the small drill and quietly gauged a hole into the drywall at shoulder height, thinning the wall at that point but being careful not to go all the way through. When he was done, Bucky stepped up, nuzzling the end of the rifle barrel into the half-formed hole.

Bucky took aim and sucked in a slow breath.

The first of six successive shorts burst through the thin layer of the wall, felling the soldier who had pulled Spider 616 by the hair; the remaining five shots went straight through the skulls of the remaining people, barely seconds apart from one another. All six bodies slumped to the floor.

Bucky exhaled, lowering his rifle.

He stepped aside and gave the Captain an affirmative nod, who then unbuckled his large shield. With a running start, the Captain barreled into the wall, shield first, bursting through it like it were made of paper, showering the other room in a cloud of soot and rubble.

They rushed to other side of the room; Spider 616 sputtered and coughed as a fine layer of dust settled on his clothes and into his hair.

Bucky moved behind the chair, a knife already in his hands, and began cutting through the restraints while the Captain worked the gag off the boy’s head.

“How- What are you guys doing here?” he asked as soon as he could speak.

The Captain gently touched his gloved fingers to the blood on his face and the swollen eye.

The moment the last of the bonds had been severed, Peter lurched forwards, flinging his arms around Steve’s neck in a fierce hug. When it was over, he did the same to Bucky, throwing his whole weight into the embrace.

As the boy stepped back, Bucky placed his hands on Peter’s shoulders to hold him still. Methodically, he quickly checked over the boy’s body, moving his limbs about and patting him down to make sure Peter hadn’t suffered from any broken bones or dislocated joints. When he was satisfied that no lasting damage had been done, Bucky ruffled his hair, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

“You guys… thanks for saving me.”

The Captain gave Peter a pat on the arm.

With their reunion complete, Bucky looked to his partner and jerked his chin towards the door. _We should go_.

The Captain nodded. Turning, he beckoned for Peter to follow.

They took a roundabout route back towards the Hydra base, which took several hours to traverse. Bucky was hyper vigilant as they weaved their way back, wanting to be doubly sure that they didn’t run into any more trouble. The journey was at times lightning fast, sprinting over rooftops or racing down narrow passageways, and at other times, slowed to a crawl as they lay hidden, waiting for prying eyes to pass by.

When they finally reached the downtown core, night had long fallen. After the day’s events, the fluorescent lights of the city were visibly dimmer, and the amber glow from still raging fires dotted the landscape.

Peter stepped out of the shadows of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk, the phosphorescent light from the nearby street signs feathering gently across his face, but hesitated when he realized that Steve and Bucky had remained hidden.

“Guys?”

Steve shook his head.

Peter’s brows drew together. “You’re not coming?” he asked, stepping closer to the mouth of the alley.

They both shook their heads.

“But… why?”

“Mission complete,” said Steve quietly.

“Return to _Harbinger_ ,” Bucky said.

Peter visibly deflated. “Oh. You’re going back. I… okay.”

Steve reached out across the shadows to place a hand on Peter’s shoulder, his arm illuminated by the lights. “Stay strong,” he said.

Peter stepped towards them, away from the street, and the darkness fell about him like a cloak. “Will I… never see you again?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“Don’t know,” Steve said. The Winter program was active only when it was needed; there was no telling where, when, or with whom they would be called in to action.

Bucky touched the boy’s elbow. “In dreams,” he said softly.

Peter let out a soft gasp, his green eyes jumped up to meet his gaze. “You’ll dream of me?”

Bucky looked to Steve, and they both nodded.

“Okay! I’ll dream of you too!” he said, jumping forward to pull them all together into a large hug.

“Be safe,” Bucky said when they separated.

“You too!” said the boy. “And thank you, again. For… for everything. Even… Even if we never meet again, I’ll never forget you.”

Steve and Bucky stepped back, further into the embrace of the night, and gave Peter one final wave.

“Goodbye,” Peter whispered, giving them a small wave in return.

Turning, the assassins melted into the shadows, one with the dark once more. Peter waited just inside the mouth of the alley for a minute, his heart heavy with a mix of emotions, before he too turned, taking a step back under the flickering streetlights.

-8-

The cockpit of the small interceptor was extremely cramped. It was built to hold one pilot, so cramming two super soldiers built like tanks into it was stretching the capacity quite a bit, but there hadn’t been any choice. After leaving Peter outside the headquarters, the two assassins had snuck their way back to the spaceport. They broke into the cargo compartment of another public transporter and had ridden it back to the inter-planetary port and stolen the first available spacecraft capable of hyper speed travel.

Bucky shifted in Steve lap, trying to get comfortable without any of his limbs awkwardly jabbing his partner, a task which was proving to be difficult. Their journey would last for several more hours, and it looked like none of it was going to be pleasant.

After another ten minutes of wriggling, Steve sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. Prodding Bucky, he manoeuvred the man in his lap around until finally, _finally_ , he was sitting comfortably; he was sideways across the seat, his back pressed up against one armrest and his legs dangling off the other. With mild exasperation, Steve pulled Bucky against his chest, encouraging him to rest his head on his shoulder, and Bucky happily complied.

The vastness of space streaked past the front visors in a blur of light, and as Bucky watched the twinkle and glittering lights flash by impossibly fast, he found his heartbeat slowing, and his mind going numb as the exhaustion of the mission seeped through his veins like molasses.

-8-

The small, blonde man paced back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back, his brows drawn down with concern. “We have to do something! You can’t expect me to just… just sit here and do nothing!” he said, his voice deeper than what one would expect from such a compact body.

“Like what?” he said, slightly incredulous.

“Enlist! Join the war! People are _dying_ out there, Buck, the war’s getting’ worse every day, and we gotta go, we gotta help, I mean every little thing counts! Everyone’s gotta do their part; the future of the galaxy depends on it!” he said, flinging his arms up in agitation. The gesture caused the man’s threadbare shirt to ride up, exposing the pale, milky skin beneath it.

He rolled his eyes. “Why you always gotta be so dramatic, Stevie? We’re just two guys; there are millions of people out here in the Colonies; plenny’a people to live and die by. You can’t seriously be tellin’ me that you think that you’re so important that you enlistin’ is gonna be the difference between winnin’ and losin’ this war.”

“Well, no, but… it could!”

“Stevie-”

“No Buck! Don’t _Stevie_ me; this is serious! It… it ain’t right, jus’ta sit back and let other people do the dyin’. Us Colony folk have gotta show them Inner System big wigs that they can’t just take what they want and walk all over us; treat us like commodities, yenno?”

He sighed. “I can see I ain’t changin’ your mind about this.”

The man sagged. “No. You ain’t.”

“I thought not,” he said, sitting forward on their old couch, and dragging a hand over his face.

“Sorry Buck. But I gotta do this,” he said, stepping close.

He leaned forward, his face pressed into the short man’s bony chest and he wrapped his hands around his frail waist. Underneath the smell of ash-coal and mineral spice, was an earthy, deep fragrance; he inhaled deeply, trying to capture as much of it as he could. “Don’cha mean ‘we gotta do this’?”

The man took in a sharp breath, and he could feel the exposed ribs expanding. “You… you’d come with me?”

“A’course,” he said. “Ain’t no way I’m gonna let you take all that stupid with you by yourself, you loon.”

“There’s a good chance that we ain’t comin’ back,” he said quietly.

“Ye don’t think I don’t know that?” he replied.

Spindly fingers began to comb through his hair, soothing the ache that was forming in his heart. “I love you so much, Buck.”

“Love you too, you stupid-ass punk.”

The hands in his hair tugged gently, and he allowed himself to be dragged back. Opening his eyes, he was met face to face by a pair of crystal blue eyes. The press of lips was gentle and loving, a caress not only of the tongue, but of the soul. Thin, dry lips trailed across his jaw, and continued up to his ear, whispering fleeting words that formed and dissipated like smoke.

“Bucky,” said that deep, resonant voice.

He hummed, closing his eyes, enjoying the scent and the sound of the man he loved.

“Bucky,” said the voice, those lips tickling the shell of his ear.

“Bucky,” it said again, this time firmer, more insistent, but time seemed to be stretching, pulled thin like an elastic band, as it deformed, so too did his other senses, each one slipping away from him until there was nothing left.

“Wake up.”

He blinked into the darkness, his awareness slowly returning. “Hnng,” he said, the vestiges of the dream falling through his fingers like water through his hands.

“Almost there,” said the deep voice.

Uncurling from his position, he looked up and found those same clear, bright blue eyes, this time hidden beneath a black helmet, a stark contrast to the bright red emblem stamped onto the front.

“C’mon.” A shoulder nudged him up, into a straighter position.

“Okay,” he said, wrapping his alertness around him like a shield – to protect him from what, he didn’t know or remember. _Okay_ , he thought, as he looked from the flashing lights on the dashboard to the streaking stars as they hurled past at light speed.

-8-

Vasily Karpov was not a stupid man; by all standards, he was an exceptionally cunning man, a man who knew how to use his talents to accrue power and influence. It was no coincidence that he had quickly risen within Hydra’s ranks and had succeeded in holding on to his title as one of the esteemed Heads of Hydra for longer than anyone else in its vast and secret history.

It was, therefore, no surprise to him that Wolfgang Von Strucker was attempting to unseat him. Many had tried in the past, and he was sure that there would be many more attempts in the future. Karpov knew that the annoying little upstart had been scheming against him ever since Karpov had dismantled his mentor’s Red Room program, and he was certain that this mission was a thinly veiled attempt to expose some sort of perceived weakness. The whole endeavor was laughably childish.

It was surprising, however, that this pathetic plan seemed to be working. Karpov was not happy about it.

“Karpov, this failure is quite concerning,” said Madame de Fontaine.

Turning towards the screen showing her face, Karpov tapped on the pad in front of him. “But in fact, it was not a failure at all. The mission objective clearly stated that my Winter program was responsible for three assassinations, and according to these reports, all three targets are dead.”

“The final assassination can hardly be called one! The explosion took out half the building!” cried Von Strucker. “You could have seriously compromised the other mission objectives, or worse, exposed us!”

Karpov sighed. “My operatives were not given specific instructions on the preferred assassination method. If the results are unsatisfactory to you, then you should have provided a more detailed breakdown in your briefing notes.”

On his screen, Von Strucker opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by a smooth interjection.

“Now, I’m sure that Wolfgang does not intend to question the results of the operation,” said a quiet voice. “I agree, Vasily, that your operatives did complete the mission objectives as stated. However, I am concerned by the message that we have intercepted, shown on page 372 of the debrief package.”

Several people in conference call looked down as they shuffled through their docupads.

“Although the final target was successfully terminated, this report shows that SHIELD is now aware that we have operatives and valuable information stored aboard the _Lemurian Star_ ,” continued the speaker.

Karpov inclined his head to the man who had raised the issue; Daniel Whitehall’s soft brown eyes and fading auburn hair masked a man known for his ruthless intellect. “There is no reason to suspect that SHIELD has received any sensitive information; the location where the information is being stored has been revealed, but that is all.”

“This is a rather glaring issue,” said Madame de Fontaine.

“But it is an issue that is external to the mission that has been concluded, I think,” said Alexander Pierce. “The fact remains: the mission objectives state that three assassinations were to be performed, and three assassinations were completed. This leak is external to that fact.”

The other Heads looks skeptical, and immediately several began speaking at once; quickly, the heated discussion escalated into a full blown argument.

Karpov frowned. It should not have been so easy for Von Strucker to turn the opinion of so many Heads against him; something bigger must be at play here, and his lack of control over the situation was making him angry.

“Order!” cried Alexander Pierce, the sound of his hand slamming against his table echoing over the comms. “What’s done is done. Instead of arguing over what could have happened, we must now deal with the situation at hand. We must decide what to do with the information leak.”

“Comrades,” Karpov said, “there is an easy solution. We must simply erase the information aboard the _Lemurian Star_ before SHIELD has a chance to retrieve it. I will send my operatives to destroy it all and remove any lingering Hydra presence from the ship. There will be nothing left for SHIELD to find when they arrive; we will have essentially sent them on a wild goose chase.”

Several heads sat back in their chairs, clearly contemplating the new proposal.

“It almost sounds too easy,” mused Madame de Fontaine.

“But I must admit, it is a clean way to tie up the loose ends,” admitted another.

“Consider it an opportunity for you to redeem yourself,” said Whitehall, and the comment made Karpov twitch.

“This can’t be acceptable!” cried Von Strucker. “The Winter Program has already demonstrated its flaws! The chances of another disastrous mistake are all but certain!”

“Now, now, Wolfgang, don’t get overexcited,” Karpov snorted.

“It is a concern that must be taken into consideration.”

“What then do you propose as an alternative?”

“My Spider operatives are vastly superior; I can assemble a strike force in lieu of the Winter Program.”

Karpov’s blood began to boil – here, then, was Von Strucker revealing his cards, and few of the other heads seemed to be fazed by it.

“Wolfgang,” interjected Pierce, “I admit your operatives have been doing good work recently, but they are not honed in the art of assassination like the Winter Program, and this mission would require quite a bit of it.”

“I find it unacceptable for the Winter Program to be tasked with an operation of such gravity!”

“Then a compromise is in order, I think,” said Whitehall. “We will deploy the Winter Program, accompanied by one of your Spider operatives, to the _Lemurian Star_ to eradicate any and all Hydra information and personnel aboard.”

The proposal was met with resounding approval, and with each nod of agreement, Karpov’s rage grew.

“Very well. It’s settled, then. Wolfgang, dispatch one of your agents to rendezvous with Vasily aboard the _Harbinger_ ; deployment will be within ten hours; mission briefing will be finalized and distributed accordingly. Hail Hydra.”

A chorus of “Hail Hydra” was followed by each Head disconnecting from the call.

Karpov terminated his communication with a vicious stab. Red hot ire coursed through his body like a drug, and impulsively, he picked up his docupad and hurled it across the room; it crashed into the wall opposite his desk with a loud crack; the metal casing broke apart and the glass shattered, raining pieces of broken electronics onto the floor.

Quietly seething, Karpov forced himself to take three deep breaths. He took pride in his self control, and an outburst like that was simply unacceptable. Straightening his shirt, he opened up a comm channel to the bridge. “Where are _Zima Kapitan_ and _Zima Soldat_?” he asked.

“They arrived out of hyperspace twenty minutes ago; the interceptor has just finished docking, so they’re probably being discharged in the armoury.”

“Instruct the handlers to halt the discharge and cryo prep and to await my arrival for further instructions.”

“Yes sir!”

-8-

They were sitting beside each other on the bench in the armoury, waiting. They’d been stripped of their battle gear, their weapons confiscated for cleaning, and the technicians had been about to begin the cryostasis prep protocols when the order had come in to stop. Wearing only his combat pants and his undershirt, the cool air was causing his skin to pebble.

Everyone in the room looked up when the doors swished smoothly open. When he saw the dark, glowering look on the old man’s face, the metal plates on his left arm shifted, the mechanics whirring in agitation. Cane in one hand, the other clasped behind his back, the man stalked into the room, bringing an ominous aura in with him.

“Prepare the chair!” he said sharply.

Instinctively, his eyes flew straight to Steve as his heart lurched inside his chest. He didn’t know what that meant, or why that command had caused a reaction, but it didn’t seem to matter, since his body was reacting anyways.

The cloud of technicians and handlers that had been buzzing around them immediately scattered. One of the lockers on the far wall was opened, and a hidden panel was revealed inside. Karpov entered a long string of numbers, causing the whole row of lockers to shudder. The rumble of an engine coming to life rattled the floor. Slowly, the lockers slid to the side, revealing a hidden room behind it.

The walls were made of gleaming steel, lined from top to bottom with electronic equipment, covered in an assortment of exposed wires, blinking lights, buttons, dials, and display screens. In the very centre of the room crouched a mechanical chair, ominously covered with reinforced restraints and wires.

Technicians immediately flooded into the secret room, followed by the hobbling old man. Left alone for the moment, the attention of all the others currently occupied, he quickly shuffled over until his shoulder was pressed against Steve’s. Immediately, Steve’s warm fingers had threaded themselves between his, and he gave a small squeeze.

The air was tense and seemed to get thicker with each passing minute. By the time they were ushered into the room with the chair, his undershirt was soaked through with sweat, his knuckles white.

A technician stepped up and separated them, right before Karpov walked up. Straightening up to his full height, the man was still an entire head shorter than him, but that didn’t seem to deter him in any way.

Karpov fixed him with an intent glare, and he struggled to keep his face neutral as they faced each other down. Then, Karpov drew back, and _smack_! His head jerked to the side as the sound of flesh slapping against flesh was accompanied by the bloom of pain across his face.

“Get him in the chair,” Karpov growled.

He was still blinking away the shock when the hands grabbed him, moving him across the room, turning him, pushing him down. Before he knew what was happening, he found himself seated in the chair, the straps and clamps being fastened into place across his arms, his hands, his legs, his feet, his chest. He looked up, finding Steve’s eyes as he stood stationary at the mouth of the room.

Although his expression was carefully neutral, he could see his own panic reflected in Steve’s bright blue eyes. Every muscle of the man’s body was tensed, and he could see that it was talking every ounce of Steve’s effort to prevent himself from moving.

He was pushed back, his head slamming into metal. A pair of firm hands grasped his jaw, squeezing forcefully until he gasped in pain. As soon as his mouth opened, something large and rubbery was forced into it. He tried to spit it out, moving his tongue against the large object, but it was in vain. Eyes wide, he choked on the rubber, his teeth sinking into the material as a cage was lowered over his head.

He twisted and squirmed, pushing against the hands and the restraints, but try as he might, his body wasn’t strong enough. Tears began forming in the corner of his eyes as he struggled harder, and yet nothing moved.

When the swarm of hands finally pulled back and the flock of people dispersed, he was panting heavily, his heartbeat wild and erratic as the adrenaline raced through his body. Through the cage, he sought Steve’s face once more.

He didn’t understand what was happening, and he could see the utter terror in Steve’s eyes as he watched, unable to do anything.

“Begin the sequence,” said Karpov.

Without warning, a bolt of electricity shot down his spine, and he arched up, screaming against the rubber mouthpiece as it lit his nerves on fire. His whole body jerked involuntarily, thrashing against the restraints as every fibre of his being tensed, tearing another scream from his throat.

The fire in his nerves pulsed rapidly, a maelstrom of agony, overwhelming all of his other senses as it travelled from his skin, from every point on his body, inward, inching slowly toward his spine, concentrating as it went. Then, distilled into a single line of stinging torture, it began to move up, pooling and collecting in his brain. It washed over his mind, a shower of sparks pulsing over his entire existence until his whole head was ablaze.

His voice was raw, but he couldn’t even hear himself screaming over the fire that throbbed from his forehead to the base of his skull and back again, over and over, burning everything in its path mind to ashes and dust, until there was only darkness.

-8-

He woke with a gasp, his eyes flying open. A torrent of light swamped his senses. He was panting, a heavy layer of sweat coating his skin, and the cool air pricked at his raw nerve endings. He shivered, the tremble flowing down over his limbs.

Hands grabbed at him, moving him, shoving him. Blurry shapes danced before his unfocused eyes as he was jostled and moved. His ears were ringing, unable to register any distinct sounds above the buzzing static, and his nose was filled with the acrid, charged smell of ozone that drowned out any other scents.

He was pulled onto his feet, stumbling as he was led several paces until his limbs collapsed under him, falling ungracefully onto the hard, cold floor. Instinctively, he curled around himself, trying to will away the overwhelming sensations.

There was pain everywhere, making him unable to focus on anything aside from its throbbing, insistent demands.

In the background, behind it all, he could hear sparking electricity, followed by the muffled scream of a deep voice. The scream echoed beneath the pain, rattling around his mind, the throbbing base notes to a symphony of cacophonous havoc. It reverberated through his body, trapping him in an inescapable loop as time lost all meaning.

His mind drifted, floating and lost through a fuzzy haze, unmoored in a featureless ocean that had no meaning. He felt hollow and empty; the cavernous space in his mind yawned like a vast void fringed with sharp teeth, filled with absolutely nothing. The desolation inside was deafening.

He barely registered when the hands returned; pulling, pushing, prodding, moving – up, forward, one foot ahead of the other. Everything sensation was a swirling mess without head nor tail.

Stumbling, his ass landed on a hard but padded surface, and shortly after, a heavy thump announced the landing of something beside him. A swoosh, a light breeze against his face, and then darkness swallowed everything.

He blinked.

Several minutes passed before he found his eyes adjusting to the dim light that leaked into the room. Everything was still blurry, but when he looked to the side, he came face to face with the shape of another man. The shape had broad shoulders and thick arms; a body that seemed to be hewn from solid muscle.

He rubbed his eyes, and the shape became sharper. He could make out the features of his face: short, blonde hair, clumped together by sweat; a strong, angular jaw and sharp cheek bones; a crooked nose that tapered down to a soft point; thin lips, dry and cracking; and eyes-

As soon as he met the man’s wide eyes – pure blue that seemed to glimmer ever so slightly – all the noise in his mind snapped to a complete stop, as though some switch had been thrown. Where before everything was noise, now, all was silent.

He took a breath.

Who… was this man?

Something in his chest seemed to lurch, but he couldn’t understand why.

He… didn’t know who this man was… and with dawning horror, he realized that he didn’t even know who _he_ was! Or _where_ he was! His mind raced, trying to remember… something… anything, but there didn’t seem to be anything to remember. Not a single thought! There was just… nothing.

His breathing hitched as he began to panic.

The blonde man’s brows drew together, painting an expression of confusion across his face. The movement of the man’s hand caught his attention, ripping him away from his internal spiral. He watched as the man’s hand drew closer, and it stirred something in him it as it approached.

He became afraid. Lightning fast, before he even realized he’d thought to move, he caught the man’s wrist in a vice grip, halting its advance.

The man looked to his immobilized hand, the confusion deepening in his expression, and then the searching eyes came back. After a moment, he lifted his other hand and reached forward.

Holding the man’s left hand still, his eyes tracked the right hand as it came towards his face. Calloused fingers skimmed lightly across his jaw, then curved underneath his ear as his palm turned up, his thumb stroking the line of his cheek. Gently, carefully, the hand cradled his face, and he found his eyes fluttering closed. The tender touch seemed to settle something inside him, something that he hadn’t realized was restless until it was smoothed away by the man’s reverence.

Swallowing thickly, his body shivered. The wrist in his grip began to move, but this time he didn’t resist. It moved forward to join its brother, and together, the two hands traced the expanse of his face, as though they were mapping each curve and contour. He still didn’t know who this man was, but he felt an affinity for him, a longing and a connection. Instinctively, he felt that he trusted this stranger. He couldn’t explain why or how he knew this, but somehow, he knew, down in his very core, that it was true; every ounce of his very existence felt _safe_ in these hands.

As the fingers roamed across his face and into his hair, weaving themselves into the long strands, fingernails gently scratching across his skull, he felt a faint puff of breath against his face. His heartbeat began to quicken. He exhaled shakily; he could feel the warmth radiating from the other man’s body, and the tingling at the base of his neck told him that the man was hovering close.

Warm, soft lips brushed against his mouth, and a hot breath feathered against his skin. The warmth of the man’s touch seemed to sink into his bones, heating him from the inside. And something in the vast emptiness began to stir. It was small and distant, almost imperceptible, but it began to awaken; something so faint, he didn’t understand what it was or what it meant.

When they pulled back, he instinctively leaned forwards, chasing the man’s retreat until their lips were touching again, fueling the soft, simmering heat inside. The touch elicited a sharp intake of breath; the tip of the mans nose grazed his cheek as they kissed, and he could feel a blush blooming across his body.

Cautiously, tentatively, he opened his mouth, sweeping the tip of his tongue across the man’s soft, dry lips. Another intake of breath, and then the man’s mouth was opening, greeting his tongue with his own. The touch was timid, a brief lick of warm muscle before it retreated, but the contact tingled wonderfully across his nerves.

Feeling bolder, he pressed forward, deepening the kiss. A gasp escaped the man, the fingers in his hair twitching as he was pushed back, leaning until he tipped over, and then they were falling, gently, the man’s back hitting the course blanket with a soft thud.

He leaned over the man, their chests touching as they continued to kiss. The strong, powerful body beneath him began to squirm, and a thigh nudged against his groin, drawing his attention to his hardening erection.

Gasping, he arched his back, pressing his hips down as the man’s lips moved down to his throat, his teeth gently nipping at the taught, exposed tendons. He found his hands bunched in the material of the man’s shirt; A bite caused his body to flex, his arms pulling at the fabric until the telltale sound of snapping threads crackled through the air. Panting, he tugged at the shirt, sliding it up and shucking it from the man’s broad, muscular frame.

A soft moan graced his ears as his hands landed on the man’s warm skin; He flattened his palms and fingers against the chorded muscles, rock hard and firm. Letting out a shaking sigh, his hips rocked forwards, rubbing himself against the man. His hands travelled across the wide expanse of the man’s chest, his shoulders, his arms, his abs, massaging and kneading as he went, each gentle squeeze earning him a shudder of anticipation. He moved southwards, his fingers skimming the hem of the loose pants before dipping beneath the waistline, teasing the hidden skin as the hands in his hair tightened.

With an insistent nudge, the man lifted his hips, allowing him to strip off the last garment, laying bare the man beneath him. The man’s hips twitched upwards, the tip of his exposed erection dragging against the pants that he was still wearing, drawing out a frustrated whimper from the lips nibbling at his collarbones. Complying, he leaned back to strip away his own shirt and pants; when he too was completely bare, the man’s hands reached for his hips; he trembled with desire as the warm palms sliding up his sides, reached around to grip his shoulders as he was pulled down.

The touch of their hard erections had him crying out, falling forward until they were pressed together from hips to chest; a light sheen of sweat slicked their skin, easing the slide of their bodies against each other.

Blindly, he leaned forwards, drawn in like iron to a magnet until their mouths met again in a wet, hot, messy kiss. He moaned softly, grinding down as the heat in his body pooled and swirled through his blood; the haze of passion was like a cloud, muting the edges of his senses. His mouth was filled with the taste of the man’s tongue, his hands filled with the firm press of his body, his nose filled with a deep, woody scent that seemed to waft into his brain, setting down roots and anchoring itself into his mind like a tree.

Panting, he reached down to take hold of them both is his large hand. The man gasped and moaned at the sudden pressure and heat of his grip. Slowly, he stroked them together; the man cried out softly, and he hungrily swallowed the sound. He wanted to hoard every moment, every sensation, every sound, every taste. The hands at his back scrabbled frantically as he continued to stroke them, stubby nails scraping deliciously against his hot skin as he squeezed and milked them.

He could feel the tension building, the way the man’s body was tensing like a coil slowly winding, and it only served to incite him. He moved faster, picking up the pace as their bodies roiled and their passionate kiss turned rough, dominated by tooth and tongue. Heat and pressure were gathering inside him, pooling into a mass beneath his navel; he could feet himself inching closer, the edge of the cliff just beyond his reach. Gasping, his stroked faster, pursuing the finish as it raced ahead of him; faster, the man’s heaving chest beneath him pushing him up and down like a float on the waves; faster, flicking his wrist and rubbing his thumb against their wet, sticky heads; faster, to match the pumping blood in his veins; faster, his eyes squeezed shut; faster, so close; faster-

The man beneath him came with a desperate whimper, his body convulsing as the man’s erection pulsed, painting their chests in a heavy spray with every blast, searing their skin like drops of lava. And then every fibre of his body snapped; he toppling over the edge, grunting as his release surged through him, bathing him in a euphoric fog as he splattered them both, anointing them in a shower of his seed. He continued to stroke them through it all, the staccato rhythm becoming abrasive against their sensitive skin, accentuating the pleasure with the slightest sting of pain.

Just as fast as it has washed through him, the energy evaporated, and he collapsed forward, heaving for breath as his bones turned to jelly, his sensed completely obliterated.

For how long he lay there, he did not know, but eventually, his became aware of himself once more. His senses returned slowly, tickling the edges of his perception, slowly bleeding inwards. A set of fingers were gently combing through his hair, and he found the slow rhythm soothing. Blinking awake, he pushed himself up, wincing at the way the crusty mess felt against his skin as he moved.

His partner mewled softly, and a face was pressed into the crook of his neck. Humming quietly, he cradled the back of the man’s head as he nuzzled closer. Wrapped in the darkness, he breathed in deeply, and the rich, heady scent that filled his senses chased away the gnawing jaws of the unknown.

-8-

The blonde man scrunched up his nose in displeasure as the cool, slimy medi-gel was slathered onto his back.

“Hold still,” grumbled his partner.

“I hate this stuff,” the man grumbled.

A head of bright red hair appeared in front of him. “Well then next time run _away_ from the explosion, you idiot.”

“I sure as hell wasn’t running _towards_ it.”

The woman scoffed. “That’s not what it looked like from where I was standing.”

“Are you done yet?” huffed the man.

“Almost, you baby,” she said. Her fingers smoothed the medication up to his neck, and then she patted him lightly. “There. All better. The wrap will only take a minute, so don’t move, or else.”

The man squirmed in his seat, as though the order had only spurred his bode into more restlessness, and he sighed. “How long until we get coordinates on the cruiser?”

“Not much longer. Fury’s pulled every available scanner and has his entire recon staff combing through flight reports to pin it down.”

“Well hopefully he’s being discreet about it; I don’t want Hydra to get wind that we’re coming.”

The woman shrugged. “If they know, they know; if they don’t, the better for us.”

“Yeah, well, I’d actually like to make some progress on this mission,” said the man, picking at the bandages on his fingers. “I’ve been hunting down leads on Hydra for my whole SHIELD career, and it feels like we’re right where we was when I started.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m really not, Nat.”

“I wouldn’t say that recruiting and converting one of Hydra’s top undercover agents ‘no progress,’” she said, elbowing him playfully. “Unless, of course, you’re trying to suggest that my defection hasn’t been worth anything to you?”

“N-No! That’s not what I- shit.”

The woman laughed. “I know, I’m just teasing.” With a final tug, the wrap was secured into place. “I know it feels like all we find is smoke and mirrors, but we’re getting there.”

A sigh. “I hope you’re right.”

One manicured finger tapped his jaw. “Chin up. I’m always right, remember? The coordinates will come in, and we’ll see what we can dig up aboard the _Lemurian Star_.”

“Yeah, okay.”

She flashed him a winning smile. “C’mon, get suited up.”

-8-

Skimming his eyes over the docupad, Karpov glanced over the numbers and readouts from the calibration assessments that they had been running for the past two hours. In front of him, _Zima Kapitan_ was completing the final exercise. Clothed only in an undershirt and sweatpants, he was halfway through taking down an entire squadron of guards in hand-to-and combat. The assassin’s movements were swift and sure, and two minutes later, it was over.

Karpov clapped his hands together softly. Both assets were functioning at the optimum levels; exactly as they should after a memory wipe. “Excellent. _Zima Kapitan_ , _Zima Soldat_ , come here.”

Snapping to attention, his perfect creations marched up to where he was seated.

“I have a very important mission for you.”

Both nodded in synch.

“Follow me.” Leading them away from prying eyes and ears, Karpov retreated to his office. Once the doors had closed, he activated his personal communications jamming device; one could never be too careful when it came to matters of security.

“You are being dispatched to the Class II cruiser, _Lemurian Star_. Mission objective: first, the assassination of all Hydra operatives on board, and second, to ensure that all of the data drives stored on board the main computer are destroyed. You are being dispatched with a Spider operative who will be helping you on this mission. The assassinations are your primary objective; the spider operative will be concentrating on the data purge. Once the assassinations are complete, you are to ensure that the purge is complete. Understood?”

“ _Da_ ,” the two assassins replied in unison.

“Very good. One final mission objective. This objective is Tier 9 Classified; by my orders, you are to speak of this to no one.” He looked each of his creations directly in the eye, waiting for them to acknowledge this before continuing. “Once all other objectives are complete, you are to eliminate the Spider operative,” Karpov said, smiling. “I don’t care how you do it, just make it look like it was the enemy. Whatever happens, make sure that you do not return with that operative.”

“ _Da_ ,” they said.

“Excellent. Remember: speak of this to no one. This final objective is off the record. Very well, proceed to armoury for mission prep. Dismissed.”

-8-

The last of the weapons and equipment were being loaded onto the specially stealth-outfitted scouting ship when the Spider operative’s fighter blinked into existence beside the _Harbinger_. As the small spacecraft entered the hanger, the hum of the hyperdrive cooling down filled the air.

Carefully stashing away the box full knives, the Soldier closed and locked the compartment before moving through the open hull and down the loading ramp. At the bottom of the incline was his Captain, standing rigidly with his hands on his belt buckle. Though he was wearing heavy boots, he made no sound as he descended the reinforced steel join the Captain. Side by side, he gave the Captain a subtle nudge with his elbow, and got a nudge in return.

They watched as the windshield on the newly arrived fighter disengaged, opening to allow its single occupant to climb out. The pilot wore what appeared to be a combat suit, and the black, matte fabric seemed to absorb and cushion any light that fell upon it. It was form fitting and hugged every curve, every lean muscle of their lithe body. An insignia was woven into the centre of the suit’s chest, in the shape of an angular, stylized spider; faint silver threads branched out from the insignia, casting a webbed pattern over the suit. Their head was covered by a full mask, made of the same material as the suit that encased their entire head. Where there would normally be goggles, instead two large, tear-shaped protective visors had been embedded into the mask, one for each eye.

The operative hopped out of the cockpit and, ignoring the ladder that was being rolled up to the spacecraft, jumped nimbly to the floor, landing in a crouch on his feet and hands, barely making a sound. Gracefully, they rose to their feet and, spotting the two assassins, began walking over.

He narrowed his eyes. The jump that Spider 616 had executed had been more than ten times the height of the average person; no natural human could have made that landing without breaking every bone in their legs.

“Ah, finally,” grumbled a weathered voice. Commander Karpov ambled around the side of their scout. “Another few minutes and we’d have been delayed.”

The operative stopped before Karpov and executed a salute with a “Hail Hydra!”

“Designation,” Karpov demanded.

“Spider 616, reporting for duty,” the operative stated.

“Are you aware that launch begins in t-minus four minutes?” Karpov said, raising a single eyebrow. “It seems that tardiness is another one of the Spiders’ deficiencies.”

The operative bowed stiffly at the waist. “Apologies, Commander.”

Karpov tutted, his cane tapping against the cold metal floor. “Have you received a full mission briefing?”

“Yessir.”

“Hm, at least I won’t have to waste any more time then. Hurry up and take your position; I don’t like delays.”

With a nod, the operative marched past the commander, past him and the Captain, and up the ramp into the hold.

Turning, Karpov gave them a meaningful look before retreating into the safety of the hanger’s traffic control room.

The Soldier followed his Captain into the body of the ship, the ramp retracting behind them. Once inside, they closed the hatch and engaged the airlock. The ship was small: the hold was basically a short corridor that led from the exit right into the cockpit where two pilot seats were situated. At the exit, the hold was wide enough for three people to stand shoulder to shoulder, which narrowed to single-file. Where it was wide, several boxes of equipment, weapons, and supplies were bolted to the floor. At the entrance to the cockpit, a couple of cramped seats were lined up on either side of the single-file walkway. Spider 616 was sitting in one of those chairs, buckling himself into place.

Swiftly, he and _Zima Kapitan_ crossed the ship and took their places in the cockpit to begin the take-off sequence. The launch was a flurry of activity, his attention focused on booting up the auxiliary systems, inter-planetary navigation, and preparing the hyperdrive core while _Zima Kapitan_ piloted the ship carefully across the hanger and out into open space.

As soon as they were clear of the _Harbinger_ ’s vicinity, he keyed in the sequence to begin the jump. The high whine of the hyperdrive core sang through the ship as it fired up, making him tense, his hand gripping the armrests of the chair until the steel began to warp under his fingers. The ship lurched forward as it punched into hyperspace, making his stomach drop to the floor for a moment.

The ship soon stabilized, their trajectory smoothing out as they glided through hyperspace. According the navigation system, they would be arriving in several hours.

The Captain pushed away from the control console, exiting the cockpit, and he followed close behind. They hadn’t been given the time to thoroughly check through and select their weapons for the mission; a subsection of the armoury had simply been supplied to the ship so that they could handpick their arsenal en route.

They had just lifted the lid off of the rifle container when the sound of belt buckles clattering caught their attention. Spider 616 was climbing out of his seat.

“I can’t believe I’m here with you guys!” he said energetically. “I really thought that I wasn’t gonna see you guys again!”

Simultaneously, he and the Captain turned away from the crate too face Spider 616.

“Everyone knows how much Commander Von Strucker hates your boss, and I thought meeting you on the last mission was, like, a once in a lifetime thing, you know? But we’re here!” said the operative as he rushed to approach, extending his arms in a strange, alarming gesture.

When it became clear from Spider 616’s approaching speed that the operative intended to violate their personal space, the Soldier threw out his left hand, planting it firmly into the oncoming operative’s narrow chest.

Spider 616 let out a small _oof_ as he collided with his metal palm, jerking slightly from the abrupt stop. “Guys?”

He blinked once.

“What’s going on? Guys, it’s me,” he said, reaching up to pull off his mask with one hand. The thick, shock-absorbent fabric came away to reveal a the face of a young man. Waves of brown hair sat atop his head, his block-ish, angular features framing a pair of soft, brown eyes. “It’s Peter.”

The Soldier blinked, and as the seconds ticked by, the look of hopeful confusion on Spider 616’s face began to slowly shift.

“Don’t you… don’t you remember me?” he asked. “We just finished a mission together, like, literally yesterday,” he said, his voice rising. “You saved my life!”

Spider 616 made to move forward, and the movement triggered another round of warnings in the Soldier’s mind; instinctively, he shoved, sending the operative stumbling backwards, falling onto the hard floor. The man lay there for several seconds, stunned; the silence that hung between them was filled with his hard breathing.

“B-Bucky? Steve?” he gasped. When he received no response, Spider 616 visibly sagged. “You… don’t remember me,” he said quietly, wetness gathering at the corner of his eyes. “What… what did they do to you?”

He simply pinned the operative with a glare until, looking defeated, Spider 616 retreated back towards the cockpit.

Sure in the knowledge that they would not be interrupted again, the Soldier turned back to the Captain and the assortment of rifles before them. When he looked up, he found the Captain stealing a glance towards the front of the ship. The blue eyes lingered for a moment before he realized that he’d been caught, and then those eyes shifted to match the Soldier’s gaze.

He raised one eyebrow ever so slightly.

A strange expression flitted across the Captain’s features, a barely perceptible twitch of his face muscles.

The Soldier gently touched his partner’s elbow.

The Captain gave the smallest shake of his head in reply, turning back to focus on the crate.

After a moment, he dropped his hand, following his partner’s lead.

-8-

The rest of the flight was passed in silence. He spent the hours in the cockpit with the Captain, pouring over the files detailing their targets – memorizing their faces and schedules and planning the most efficient hit order. Soon enough, it was time to exit hyperspace. Their scout emerged from the slipstream one sector over from the _Lemurian Star_ to avoid detection, and as soon as they blinked back into regular space, the specially equipped stealth shield was activated. The final approach was silent, the scout gliding quietly towards their destination.

The _Lemurian Star_ was large, stretching out before them like a long freighter, the light from its many windows shining light into its surroundings. Its hull was sleek and streamlined, ending in an oblong nose at the front. At the back, the engine nozzles glowed blue-white as they propelled the ship forward on its surveillance course.

Expertly, the Captain piloted their small ship up to the much larger cruiser, docking onto its hull on top of one of the smaller maintenance airlocks. Suited up and armed to the teeth, it didn’t take long for them link up the utility exit on their spacecraft to the ship’s airlock, and the passageway opened with a quick wireless hack. Crawling through the small opening, the three figures slipped into the cruiser, closing the airlock behind them.

The Captain brought out a docupad showing a layout of the ship. Gathering around, the Soldier and Spider 616 leaned over the display. With deft fingers, the Captain scrolled to the front of the ship, zooming in on the bridge and the large chamber that housed all of the computer hardware, two levels below it. He pointed to the map, and then to Spider 616.

Spider 616 nodded. “Yessir,” he said stiffly, his voice slightly muffled by his mask.

The Captain tapped his earpiece.

“I’ll keep you updated on my progress.”

The Captain nodded, stashing the docupad into the bag of weapons slung over the Soldier’s shoulder. Feeling dismissed, Spider 616 gave them a quick salute before turning to the wall. Placing his hands onto the smooth metal, he pulled himself up. He watched sceptically as the short, lithe operative scale up the wall, onto the ceiling. There must have been some sort of electromagnet or other Hydra technology built into his suit, allowing Spider 616’s hands, knees, and feet to stick to the ceiling.

As the operative scuttled away, disappearing from sight, the Soldier’s suspicions about Spider 616 multiplied. The strength that would have been required to move so efficiently and quietly like that was above regular human capabilities.

A hand gripped the Soldier’s shoulder gently, and he turned to find the Captain looking at him. He gave a small nod in response, reaching up to squeeze the Captain’s gloved fingers.

Together, they quickly dismantled the grating of the nearest air vent and crawled into it. As he ducked into the small space, the darkness of the tunnel enveloped them, and the muted calm mission determination fell over his mind.

Swiftly, the worked their way from one target to the next, undercover Hydra agents dropping like flies. Most were easy – for the ones who were found alone, they simply darted out of the shadows like a fox, drawing a knife across the throat with a hand over the mouth and nose to prevent any noise. For the ones in a crowd, a well placed poison dart did the trick. They had brought along a variety of toxins, so that the deaths wouldn’t be so obviously linked until later, when the body count piled up. Some caused seizures and paralysis, their victims dropping to the floor in convulsions, causing them to choke and suffocate. Others stopped the heart, and others still induced hemorrhaging in the brain.

Two hours into the operation, the ship’s emergency alarms sounded; klaxons blared, filling the air with deafening enemy warnings. The two assassins glanced at one another – someone must have discovered one of their victims. Mentally, the Soldier checked through their kill list; they were further along than they had planned to be at this point, an indication that things was going well, but now that the ship was on high alert, progress was going to be slower.

Spider 616 dropped occasional updates throughout the mission; they had just finishing slaying a room full of four targets when he had reached the data processing room. Later, the Soldier had lifted a particularly resilient Hydra agent into a chokehold, his metal arm slowly crushing her windpipe when the operative reported that he had successfully infiltrated the room, and when Spider 616’s voice told them he’d started to identify the memory crystals that housed Hydra data, the Captain had just finished taking down an entire squad of guards who were standing between them and their next target.

As more and more people were discovered dead and more of their poisoned victims began filling up the med bay, the chain of command on board began to fall into chaos. The confusion made movement trickier, and it meant that their remaining targets were likely to have strayed from their regular positions and schedules, but it also meant that the confusion would expose more holes in the enemy defenses.

Finally, after felling each agent on their list, there was only one remaining.

Agent Jasper Sitwell was holed up in his office, screaming orders over his comm device. Clutching a cloth in one hand, he wiped frantically at the beads of sweat that were dripping down his shiny, bald head. The man was positively shaking in his chair, unable to contain himself.

From the grate of an air vent in the floor, the Soldier peered up into the room as his fingers nimbly worked at the bolts holding the grate into place, unscrewing them as quietly as possible. Sitwell was demanding a squad of guards be sent to his office when his comms were cut off. Scrambling in desperation, Sitwell tried to reconnect the call, but when he wasn’t able, the agent slumped in is chair, covering his face in his hands.

The last bolt came undone, and silently, he moved away the grate. Unobstructed, the Soldier climbed out from the depths of the vent, his crouched figure veiled by the shadow of a nearby potted plant. Behind him, the Captain’s head emerged, followed by the rest of his large body.

Rising to their feet, the two assassins approached their final target, gliding so silently across the floor that Jasper Sitwell didn’t even notice them until they towered over his desk.

The nervous man jerked back, his chair rolling back a few inches as he stared at them both with terrified eyes. “The W-Winter C-C-Ca-” his voice cracked, unable to even finish speaking.

They took a step forward.

“N-N-No! Please!” he begged, his eyes threatening to pop out of their sockets behind his circular glasses. “T-This has to be a m-mistake!” he stammered, “I f-followed all my orders, r-right down to the letter! E-Everything went smoothly! Nothing went w-wrong!”

With a flick of his wrist, a plasma pistol appeared in the Captain’s hand.

Sitwell waves his arms in front of him frantically. “P-Please! I’ll do anything you tell me to! Please! I swear I didn’t-”

The Captain raised the pistol, levelling it with the man’s head.

Sitwell let out a high-pitch, shrill cry as he scrambled back. The man’s fear was plastered across his face, filling the air with an acrid aura; desperate pleas fell from his mouth and rolled across the floor like a bag of spilled marbles, bouncing uselessly ground.

The Captain pulled the trigger, sending a single shot of plasma through Sitwell’s forehead.

Dead, the agent slumped lifelessly into his chair.

Turning back to the open vent, the Captain calmly tucked the pistol back into its holster.

With all of the assassinations complete, the assassins turned to their next objective: securing and confirming the data wipe. Crawling through vents and empty elevator shafts, the two of them crossed the ship to reach the computer room.

Dropping into the room from a hidden vent from above, they landed quietly on their feet. The chamber was vast, spanning several levels of the ship, it was hard to see the ceiling from where they stood. Tall pillars of blinking computer hardware filled the space from wall to wall, creating a labyrinth of electronics.

To prevent all of the equipment from overheating, the entire room was outfitted with an elaborate cooling system which involved a powerful ventilation system for the human-accessible portions of the computer hardware. The industrial sized fans droned incessantly, and the stiff wind whipped the Soldier’s hair about his face wildly.

Stalking into the room, they began searching for Spider 616. Several of the floor panels were made of glass, revealing that the towers ended not just upwards, towards the ceiling, but also downwards, into the enormous tank of liquid beneath their feet. Below, an even more intricate hydraulic ventilation system pumped coolant across the non-accessible portions of the computer hardware.

After several minutes of searching, they spied an active maintenance terminal several rows down. As they neared, an arm clad in black stuck out from behind it, a large memory crystal clutched its hand.

“There we go, stubborn little thing,” a voice muttered under its breath.

Rounding the bend, they found Spider 616 crouched at the base of the pillar, extricating himself from a small maintenance hole. His combat suit was scuffed in some places, and he had removed his mask. Locks of his wavy brown hair were damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead and neck.

Moving to stand, the operative jumped when he saw the two assassins standing over him.

“Holy jeez!” he cried, almost dropping the memory crystal in his shock. “I didn’t hear you guys coming! Although, I guess it’s pretty loud in here with the fans, and like, you’re supposed to be the stealthiest assassins in the history of like, ever, so I shouldn’t be surprised?”

The Captain raised a single eyebrow, lowering his gaze to the memory crystal clutched in the operative’s hands. The stone was large and angular, about twice the size of a closed fist, and was a pale, milky white.

“Oh! Right, the data! I’m almost done extracting the crystals we need,” he said, reaching down to the satchel on the floor. He opened the top, dropping in the crystal he had just retrieved to join the rest. “I’ve only got six more to retrieve, and then we can get outta here.”

The Captain gave the hand signal for ‘six’ and pointed at the bag.

“Yeah, six more.”

Shaking his head, he pointed at the bag again and gestured to the rest of the room.

“What? I don’t understand. There are six more of the crystals we need to get, I- OH you want to know where they are? Right, okay here lemme…” Reaching back into the bag, he retrieved a docupad which had a layout of the room. “There’s one here in this tower,” he said, pointing to the screen, “two more in this one, and then on that side of the room, there’s one in these two pillars next to each other, and the last one is… here.”

The Captain pointed to the three furthest ones.

“These ones?”

He nodded.

“Uh… lemme bring up the specs.” Spider 616 typed something into the program, and then selected one of the towers. The view on the screen changed, rotating from a top-down view to a side-view of the tower in question. Slowly, it rotated around, zooming in onto a panel near the top of the pillar. The virtual program opened the panel, revealing the array of crystals inside, highlighting a specific one. Leaning forwards, the Soldier’s eyes scanned the screen, memorizing the layout and the position of the crystal.

The Captain motioned for the next one, and the process repeated. Once the exact position of all three crystals were shown, they both stepped back, signalling to Spider 616.

“You guys are grabbing those three? Oh. Um. Okay, yeah, that works. Okay, I’ll grab the other ones, and then we can meet back up here?”

Both assassins simply turned towards the other side of the room.

“O-Okay then…”

Jogging to the other end of the room, the two of them had no trouble finding the first pillar, and it only took several minutes to extract that crystal. The second and third crystals quickly followed, and soon after, they returned to where Spider 616 had left the bag he had used to collect them all. Opening the flap, the Soldier peered inside.

Their mission objective clearly stated that the information was to be destroyed. Deletion was one option, but that risked leaving fragmented data behind, which someone might be able to salvage. The most permanent method to ensure that the data would not fall into enemy hands would be to physically destroy the data. Weighing one of the crystals in his hand, he turned to the Captain with a questioning look.

Holding the other two crystals in his hands, the Captain looked from one to the other before coming to a decision. Lifting up one of the crystals, he turned his hand up-side down and let go, allowing the crystal to fall to the floor.

With a high-pitched crash, the smoky white stone struck the floor and instantly disintegrated into a pile of tiny shards that skittered across the floor with a puff of dust.

The Captain looked up, meeting his eyes.

He nodded, tossing the crystal in his hand to the Captain’s feet, where it too exploded as it smashed into the floor. Reaching into the bag, he began pulling out the contents, throwing them haphazardly onto the ground as he went. The Captain came over to help, and between the two of them, they worked through the bag quickly.

They were down to about dozen crystals when Spider 616 returned.

“What are you doing?” he cried, running up to them with the last three in his arms.

“Destroy,” he said, pointing to the crystals.

“We were supposed to bring those back!” said the operative.

The Captain shook his head. “Mission objective. Destroy data.”

“W-What? No, we were supposed to _retrieve_ the data! Commander Von Strucker said were collecting important intel from highly secure SHIELD databases!”

“No,” he said. “Destroy.” With his metal hand, he grabbed the bottom of the almost-empty bag and upturned it, sending the last few crystals tumbling to the ground, shattering them on the growing pile of sparkling debris; Spider 616 let out a sound of protest as he watched.

Turning, he and the Captain pinned Spider 616 with his unflinching gaze. Fear took over the operative’s face, and he took a step back, clutching the final three memory crystals to his stomach.

The Captain stalked forward; Spider 616 stumbled back and turned to flee, but the Soldier moved faster, tackling the smaller man at the waist. As they fell, Spider 616 lost his grip on the crystals, sending them in a flying arc; they struck the metal covering of computer tower, shattering to pieces.

“No!” cried Spider 616 as he scrambled to his feet. “What have you done?”

Dusting the crystal powder from his combat pants as he stood, the Soldier fixed his eyes upon the smaller man. “Objective Two: Complete,” he said as the Captain came to stand behind him. He reached for his plasma pistol. “Objective Three: Eliminate Spider operative.”

Spider 616’s eyes widened as the Soldier drew his pistol and pulled the trigger.

A plasma bolt shot out from the barrel of the gun, racing across the space between them, only to explode into a shower of sparks as it hit the thick, metal casing protecting the computer pillar right behind where Spider 616’s chest had been only a moment before.

The operative’s reflexes were beyond that of any human; Spider 616 would never have been able to dodge fast enough. The Soldier was now certain that he was enhanced in some way, and that would bake completing this mission harder than initially estimated.

“Guys, what the hell?” Spider 616 yelped from his crouched position.

The soldier fired at the operative again, who jumped to avoid the bolt this time; the two assassins craned their necks to follow as he soared into the air, high above their heads. Spider 616 stuck himself to the nearest pillar by slapping his hands and feet to the metal.

“What’s going on?” asked Spider 616, his voice cracking in desperation. “Why are you doing this? We’re on the same side!”

The soldier fired another shot in response, forcing the target to leap from his pillar to the adjacent one.

“Fuck,” the target said under his breath as he landed, his limbs already moving him around to the other side and launching himself at the next one. He was fleeing.

The Soldier growled in annoyance and sprang into pursuit. He was trained to be an expert marksman; no target had ever escaped his crosshairs before, and now he had missed three times. Pulling out a second plasma pistol, he fired in quick succession as he ran, sending a flurry of plasma bullets towards Spider 616’s feeling silhouette.

But the target was faster, inhumanely fast, and none of the bullets hit home; instead, a shower of sparks rained down on him and the Captain as the plasma bullets pelted the metal panels of the surrounding towers.

They chased Spider 616 between the pillars, the soldier firing his pistols and the Captain throwing his shield as they went. The target was nimble, able to change directions in an instant, trying to throw them off his trail as he weaved back and forth, racing across the huge chamber to the nearest exit.

They were nearing the edge of the room when the Captain signalled to him; pointing to where the target was moving, he gave a series of complex hand signals.

Nodding, the Soldier lined up his shot. He fired both pistols at Spider 616 just as the Captain hurled his shield; the plasma shots forced the target to jump from his position, his trajectory sending him directly into the arching path of the shield.

The target grunted audibly as the heavy, vibranium disc caught him in the chest and bounced away, clanging loudly as it ricocheted off the nearby pillar and back into the Captan’s waiting hands. Spider 616’s body bounced off the wall, the impact jolting his whole body as he plummeted from above; halfway to the floor, he dug his hands and fingers into the metal, trying to slow his fall until his body impacted the floor with a thud.

They were mere steps away from the main entrance, the door sealed shut.

The Soldier rushed forwards, his pistol blazing, but not fast enough; Spider 616 raised an arm and flicked his wrist. Two high pitched snaps announced the launch of two tiny plasma shots; the white hot bullets caught him in each hand, sending his pistols flying.

Without breaking stride, he flipped a knife into each hand just as he reached the downed operative, slicing down through the air with the blades.

The target rolled to the side, and the Soldier’s knives buried themselves to the hilt into the metal tiling below.

Spider 616 panted heavily as he clambered up; his body seemed to be feeling the toll of the pursuit.

Unsheathing another knife, the Soldier stabbed again.

“Please!” he said as he dodged, flipping backwards onto his feet.

The Captain’s heavy footfalls closed the distance between them, and soon it was two-on-one. Avoiding the blows from two opponents was much harder than one; the Soldier swiped relentlessly with his knives as the Captain fought with his fist and the edge of his shield.

Spider 616 was clearly flagging; a punch caught him in the ribs, and soon after, the Soldier’s blade nicked the target’s forearm, slicing through the combat suit and drawing blood. The operative gasped, trying to avoid the Captain’s shield and failing, the razor edge catching him in the chest.

“Ha,” panted the target as he faltered; it was the only opening they needed.

A split second later, Spider 616 was on his knees, the nose of the Captain’s plasma handgun pressed to his head.

“P-Please,” the target gasped between heavy breaths. “Steve,” he said, his voice strained and cracking. Cheeks red and heart racing, the target’s eyes began to water. Sweat trickleds down his pale, clammy skin. “Please don’t do this,” he whispered. “I-I’m your friend, remember? I-It’s me, Peter.”

The gun pressed in harder.

“S-Steve, please…”

A second passed, and then two. The air was thick, dripping with anticipation. The air was filled with the sound of the target’s shallow, ragged breathing and the electrical hum of the computers around them, underpinned by the distant blaring of emergency klaxons in the background. The sheer look of terror on Spider 616’s face was cast in the eerie blue light from the glowing pool of coolant below them.

The Soldier began to tense.

A third second ticked by.

Something was wrong. Why was the Captain hesitating? The target should be a limp corpse by now! They didn’t have any time to spare!

“The mission,” growled the Soldier, stepping closer.

Still, the Captain didn’t move, didn’t take the shot.

“Complete mission,” the Soldier said, louder this time, coming to stand beside his Captain.

The expression on his Captain’s face was pinched; his thick brows were drawn together, the corners of his mouth pulled down.

Growling in frustration, he drew his knife; if the Captain wasn’t going to finish the mission, then he would do it.

With one swift motion, the Soldier brought his knife down, aiming for the target’s heart.

 _Thud_!

The Soldier blinked in disbelief.

The captain had blocked him, his knife-wielding arm crossed with the Captain’s forearm.

He narrowed his eyes. “Mission,” he said firmly.

“No,” the Captain replied.

Ice flooded the Soldier’s veins, and he physically recoiled at that one word. “No?!”

“Stop,” said the Captain, placing himself between the target and the Soldier.

He couldn’t process what was happening. The Captain… was betraying them? But how? Why? The Soldier’s grip on his knife turned painful. He didn’t understand – the mission was to eliminate the target, and this action spelled mission failure…

No.

There would be no mission failure

He would complete the mission.

With a vicious cry, the Soldier sprang forward, determined.

The Captain met him halfway, and his knife glanced off the vibranium shield with a loud _clang_!

The Soldier pivoted. If the Captain was going to stand in his way, then he would just have to remove that obstacle. He turned his attention to the super soldier. He fell upon the Captain, attacking with all the strength and speed he could muster.

Ordinarily, the Captain was every bit his equal, but the Soldier was set to kill, and the Captain seemed unwilling to strike back; there was no aggression in his movements, and he only made attempts to block every strike he made. That tipped the balance, and with a calculated manoeuvre, the Soldier swept the Captain off balance. Grabbing by his belt, the Soldier used all his strength to swing, his muscles screaming as he threw the Captain into the wall.

Stunned, the super soldier fell to his hands and knees.

It was the chance he needed.

Spider 616 was trying to flee, but the adrenaline was streaming through the Soldier’s body, and he caught up in five quick strides. With his flesh hand, he grasped the target by the back of his body suit and _pulled_.

Crying out, Spider 616 fell back, his arms flailing, and the Soldier twisted, throwing his entire weight behind a single punch.

With a sickening crunch, his metal fist connected with the target’s chest; his arm vibrated with the contact, and he could feel bone and cartilage breaking beneath his vibranium joints.

Spider 616 cried out as he crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath.

Reaching down, the Soldier wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the target’s slender neck, hoisting him up. Gloved fingers scrabbled at his arm as Spider 616 gasped for breath. A trickle of blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth, snaking a path down his chin.

The Soldier pulled back his metal arm; one blow to the head would be enough to collapse the target’s skull.

“Please,” the target sobbed, tears streaming down his face as he struggled. “Bucky…” he gasped, “please… I…”

The metal arm whirred as its internal motors revved; he could finish the mission himself, right here, right now. Tightening his metal fist, the plates covering his arm shifted, clicking as they rearranged themselves, building up tension.

A second passed.

The Soldier’s lips pulled back, baring his teeth beneath the mask as he snarled at the target; his metal fist began to shake. What was happening? Why wasn’t his arm moving? The mission was almost complete; victory was literally within his grasp! He willed his body to move, poured every ounce of his energy into getting his arm to _move_!

But to no avail; his fist refused to listen.

He couldn’t understand; why wasn’t he able to do it?

Suddenly, the Soldier was knocked sideways; bulldozed by a huge force, and his hand opened, releasing the target as he was bowled over by the Captain’s tackle.

Blinking, the Soldier found himself lying on the floor on his side. The Captain’s heavy boots filled his vision, and behind, he could see Spider 616 trying to push himself off of the floor, coughing up blood as he struggled to breathe.

The Captain crouched down in front of him, and bright, concerned blue eyes came into view. A hand landed softly on his shoulder; reassurance. The Captain opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak, the muted sounds of approaching footsteps came from the other side of the nearby entrance.

He and the Captain looked towards the door with alarm. They could hear fists banging on the reinforced metal, followed by the impact of plasma bullets.

The enemy was here; they were out of time.

Reaching for another weapon, the Soldier sat up; his mind was screaming at him to finish the mission, the wail drowning out all other thought, but the Captain gripped his shoulders firmly.

There was no time. They needed to escape.

Now.

He was pulled to his feet, and his traitor body gave no resistance. The Captain turned him away from the door, away from their target, and gave him a gentle push. “Go,” he said.

The Soldier glanced back one last time. Spider 616’s body was a heap of limbs on the ground. His eyes were half lidded, the growing pool of blood beneath his cheek staining his hair and the collar of his suit, and his breathing was laboured and shallow.

“But…”

The Captain met his eyes. “No. We go. Now,” he said, pulling, and together, they retreated from the room, disappearing into the vents from whence they came.

-8-

“Nat, would you get this door open already?!” he shouted.

The woman with fiery red hair ground her teeth as her fingers pulled at the exposed wires. “I’m going as fast as I can, Barton!” Counting the wire positions, she pulled apart a wire lined with green insulator. “Aha!” Rubbing the exposed ends of two wires together caused a shower of sparks, and then the door beeped, the display pad above her head turning green.

“Yes!” said the man as the door swished open. Drawing a shock arrow from his quiver, he swiftly nocked it into the glowing string of his sonic bow and drew the weapon as he entered the room; with plasma pistols in each hand, the woman followed.

Immediately, the pair spotted the limp body huddled against the wall close by.

Instinctively, the woman aimed her pistols at the hostile. The human was male, dressed in a skin-tight black body suit that she didn’t recognize, but that she knew did not belong to any of the personnel on board. This was a Hydra agent. Blood pooled on the floor by his head, fed by a trickle from the corner of his mouth.

The man’s eyes were lidded and unfocused. He coughed, sending a spray of blood across the floor.

“Shit,” breathed Clint, disengaging his weapon and stashing it into the holster on his back as he crouched down.

“Don’t!” hissed Nat.

“He’s hurt!” said Clint as he reached out, his fingers gently probing for injuries.

“He’s Hydra! It could be a trap!” said Nat, her grip tightening on her pistols.

“He’s got two cracked ribs, and three broken ones; I think one of the broken ribs has punctured his right lung,” Clint said.

“So?”

“Nat, he’s dying! We need to get him to the med bay!”

“No! He’s Hydra! He can’t be trusted!”

Clint jumped to his feet. “So, that’s it? You’re just going to let him bleed out on the floor?”

The Hydra agent coughed again, his breathing even more erratic than before.

“Shit,” Clint said, crouching back down. “Hey, dude. I’m Clint.”

With great effort, the Hydra agent tried to lift his head. “P-Please,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “help…”

“Yeah dude, you’re gonna be okay; we’re here to help.”

Nat seethed quietly in response, and Clint turned to her.

“Look,” said Clint, placing an arm on his partner’s shoulder. “Nat, I know you don’t like this, but think about it: the door’s locks were scrambled so that nobody could get in, which means that Hydra agents were in here, and they doing something important. They were safe in here; none of our personnel were in the area when everything went down. So where did this guy get his injuries? Hydra must have done this to him, but they wouldn’t have done it without a reason. He must have turned on Hydra. Why else would he be lying here, half dead, with no one else around?”

“There are lots of other explanations, Clint!”

The man sighed. “I know, but… I recognize him from XueTanTian; he might have been Hydra before, but he’s different than the others. Being with them and being one of them are two different things. I have a hunch about this, okay?”

“A hunch? That’s it?”

“We need to give him a chance, Nat! He might have information, and we desperately need it right now! Besides, I gave you a second chance, remember?”

The red-haired woman hesitated.

“I had orders to take you out, but I made a different call, and I’m asking you to let me to the same here. Nat, please.”

Nat holstered her weapons. “Fine. One chance.”

Clint broke into a relieved smile. “Thanks Nat.” He turned back to the young man. “Hey kid, we’re gonna get you out of here, okay? I’m gonna lift you up, so it might hurt a little.”

-8-

Panting, the Soldier pulled himself up through the hole and into the space shuttle, and his Captain soon followed. As the Captain closed the hatch and engaged the airlock’s seal, the Soldier stumbled into the nearest seat. Holding his hands up in front of him, he barely registered that the Captain had rushed past into the cockpit. Beeps filled the small space, and the Soldier felt the gravity shift as they detached from the _Lemurian Star_.

The engines whined, revving to life, and not a minute later, they made the jump into hyperspace, the jolt throwing him sideways in his seat.

His gloved hands trembled in front of his face, and he blinked, trying to get his vision to focus. His mind was still racing, unable to comprehend what had just happened, but only succeeded in running itself in circles.

A soft touch, and he looked up. His Captain was kneeling in front of him, his bare hands encased around his gloved, shaking ones. Gently, his Captain pulled of his gloves. Calloused, bare fingers captured his own, bringing them to a soft pair of lips.

His Captain had removed his helmet, and the man’s wet, dark blonde hair was sticking up at all angles. Crystal blue eyes never left his face as the Captain pressed a chaste kiss to his knuckles; the touch sent a shiver through his body, the adrenaline from their rushed escape still thrumming through his body. His Captain reached forward, moving between the Soldier’s legs as the man’s fingers undid the fastening at the back of the mask, pulling off his face and tossing it to the side.

The cool air prickled at his hot, exposed face. Shivering, his eyes fell closed. He could feel his Captain’s warm breath as it fluttered across his cheeks, and a moment later, a pair of lips brushed up against his. Instinctively, his hands flew into his Captain’s hair, his fingers tangling themselves into the short, sweat-damp strands. As they kissed, their wet tongues touching as they licked into each other, his Captain cradled the back of his skull gently with one hand, the other pressed to his chest, just above his heart.

The kiss deepened, the heat rising quickly between them. The hand on his chest twitched, his Captain’s fingers scratching at his armour until he couldn’t wait any longer, and then strong fingers were fluttering across his body, unclasping buckles and straps as they went. In moments, his chest plate hit the floor, quickly followed by the rest of his armour, leaving him in thin undergarments.

The Soldier’s hands landed on his Captain’s shoulders, pushing him back so that he could return the favour. When the last of their armour and clothes were gone, their bodies collided, the touch of bare skin electrifying his nerves and he felt _alive_.

His Captain pushed him back down, his bare ass sticking to the cheap leather covering the seat, his back pushed up against the frigid cold metal backing. Hot lips traced his collar bone, sucking marks onto his pale skin as it traveled across his chest. Gasping, his hands found themselves once again entwined with damp locks of dark golden hair as fingers and lips flicked at his nipples. He cried out in shock as the same deft fingers pinched, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his hardening cock.

His Captain exhaled, his hot breath tickling his skin as he continued to play with the sensitive nubs, stoking the fire that was rising within him. He moaned, the sound of his voice echoing in the small confined space, and his Captain responded with a moan of his own as he trailed his lips down over the ridges of his abs, following the small trail of hair down to his erect cock.

Drawing his tongue over the sensitive, leaking head, his Captain’s breath hitched and the Soldier cried out, arching his back as his hips jerked up, accidentally forcing the head of his cock into his Captain’s hot mouth.

A lewd wail escaped the Soldier’s throat as his Captain slide his mouth down, taking more and more of his throbbing shaft into his mouth as he swirled his tongue. It was so hot, his Captain’s mouth soft and wet and so, so good, it was overwhelming. Bobbing his head, his Captain sucked, taking more and more of his length with each plunge until he felt his cock nudging against the back of his Captain’s throat.

Bucking involuntarily, the Soldier gasped, thrusting up; his Captain gagged, but didn’t pull back. Instead, one of his hands slipped under his ass, gripping the muscled flesh as he guided the Soldier’s hip up, deeper into his throat. His other hand snuck between the Soldier’s legs, rolling his balls between his fingers as he increased his pace.

The Soldier cried out, the sensations cascading over him like a waterfall. The fingers of his flesh hand fisted his Captain’s hair, pulling the man’s face onto his cock as he thrust, fucking into his hot mouth. His metal fingers flew up to his chest, pinching and teasing his pebbled nipples.

The fire within him was roaring, burning through his muscles and setting whole body alight, and he came with a shout, every fibre of his body tensing as his orgasm gripped him. His Captain sucked and slurped, his lips and tongue bathing his cock as he spilled pulse after pulse of hot, sticky seed, swallowing every drop as it gushed from the Soldier’s thick cock. He continued to suck as the orgasm faded, licking up and down his sensitive shaft.

Panting, the Soldier tugged at the fistful of his Captain’s hair, and his Captain released the cock from his mouth with a small pop. His lips swollen and his eyes were watering, and the Soldier was filled with a sudden flood of emotion. Clumsily, he pushed his Captain to the floor, his hands reaching for whatever skin he could find.

His lips found purchase on his Captain’s thigh, and his bit down, sucking a dark bruise into the pale flesh.

“Ah!” cried his Captain, the man’s enormous cock jumping.

Hooking his hands beneath his Captain’s knees, he folded them up, revealing the soft pucker of muscle hidden between his Captain’s firm ass. With his metal fingers, he traced the soft rim, sending a full body shudder through the large body beneath him. Gently, reverently, he inserted one finger.

His Captain moaned loudly, the sound sparking heat deep within him once more. He pressed in, burying his finger right up to the knuckle as he watched the heavy rise and fall of his Captain’s broad chest. Pressing a kiss to his Captain’s inner thigh, he began to move his hand, slowly thrusting in and out of his hole.

Wriggling his ass, his Captain panted; his erection lay against his stomach, throbbing and hard, dripping onto his abs. The sight was too tempting to resist, so the soldier reached down with his flesh hand, wrapping his fingers around his shaft. His Captain jerked at the contact, his moans escalating.

The Soldier pumped the cock in his hand once as he continued to finger-fuck his Captain’s ass. He could feel the man’s hard body tightening, the tension building, and he slid a second metal finger into his hole to join the first, and then a third. His Captain’s moans echoed, his breathing ragged, his chest and face flushed deep red. He could feel the orgasm approaching, and the Soldier doubled his efforts, setting a punishing pace as he stroked his Captain’s massive cock in time with his thrusts.

The tension in his Captain’s body coiled, tighter and tighter until he knew, any moment now. He slipped in a fourth finger, crooking his fingers _just_ so to strike at that sweet spot.

He watched as his Captain arched up off the floor, his jaw stretched open in a soundless cry as he came, his body jerking as his cock erupted, spraying his hot seed across his abs, his chest, several drops even plastering his face and hair. The Soldier stroked him through the orgasm, his grip tight, and pressed his metal fingers into the hidden bundle of nerves inside him.

When it was over, his Captain slumped to the floor, his eyes hooded. His lips curved up into a small smile, and he beckoned the Soldier forward, seeking his partners lips with his own.

Smiling fondly, the Soldier obliged.

-8-

An explosion rocked the ship, sending tremors through the hull.

He staggered, loosing his footing as the floor vibrated violently, the air filled with the alarming wail of metal bending on a massive scale. He looked up, his eyes meeting a pair of familiar blue ones.

“Dammit,” the man said, spitting the word from his thin lips. His voice was deep, a low register sound that never failed to spark feelings inside. His red, white, and blue combat uniform was covered in soot and engine oil, and several places were singed from plasma rifle fire. He was tall and broad, his shoulders almost as wide as a doorway.

“Sounds like this ship ain’t gonna be spaceworthy for much longer,” he said, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Arg!” the man bellowed, punching the window beside him. Beyond the reinforced ultraglass, the vast emptiness of open space stretched out as far as the eyes could see, an ocean of inky black studded with blinking stars.

“It was a trap,” he said bitterly. “Zola was never on this ship. The Appolarian Alliance must have been fed false intel.”

Another blast vibrated through the ship, and the metal hull groaned under the stress.

“Steve, we gotta go. Now!” he said, turning back down the hallway they had just traversed.

A strong hand gripped his arm. “We’re not gonna make it back to the transport in time!” said Steve. “This way, I think I saw an escape pod bay up ahead.”

With a nod, the two men raced forward, their heavy combat boots thumping loudly against the bare metal ground. They sprinted past an entire corridor engulfed in flames, and further on, emergency airlocks had sealed of an entire section of the ship which must have been depressurized by one of the explosions.

He shivered; just the thought of being sucked into the frigid, lifeless vacuum of space made him nauseous. Being soldiers, they were not strangers to the things that space could do to the human body, and he had absolutely no desire for his life to end in that way.

Blessedly, they reached the escape pod bay without incident. The command terminal seemed to be undamaged, and quick check confirmed that the power grid in this sector of the ship was still running.

“Thank god,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. At least _something_ was going right on this clusterfuck of a mission. What started as a fairly straightforward stealth capture op had quickly turned pear-shaped, and now with the cruiser falling apart around them, a hasty retreat was the only chance of getting out alive.

“Get in,” Steve said, dialing the launch sequence into the terminal.

He did as he was told, and soon after, Steve was climbing in after him. Quickly, they secured the hatch and engaged the airlock.

With a whirr, the life pod stirred to life, small lights illuminating the small craft built for hold six. Nervously, he watched as the pod detached itself from the hull, slowing pushing away from the fragmenting ship. The minutes ticked by as the pod crawled away from its parent, the distance between them slowly growing. Debris was beginning to fly off of the ship, shards of metal and glass exploding into space as sections of the dying cruiser violently decompressed.

“Hey,” said Steve, putting a hand on his knee. “We made it out.”

He shivered. “Yeah, but it ain’t over yet. We’re still drifting aimlessly through basically unchartered space, remember?”

“Alliance Corps will pick us up; they know something went wrong with the op.”

“Steve. Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t lie to me; I ain’t stupid. We went to radio silence before entering hyperspace, and we chased that godforsaken caravan halfway across the galaxy before we got spit out in who fuckin’ knows where! Alliance won’t know something went wrong until we miss the rendezvous window, and even then, they’ll have no idea where to even start lookin’ for us!”

The hand on his knee tightened. “Bucky.”

He sighed. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I know yer jus tryin’a have hope.”

“Hey, no, Buck, it’s okay.”

As the pod drifted further from the increasing wreckage, the darkness began to overshadow everything. The life pod had minimal by way of life support – only enough air filtration and heating to keep the inhabitants alive, and the only light in the chamber was the strength of a desk lamp.

“C’mon, we should rest,” said Steve, pulling him into a hug.

“Ya, okay,” he mumbled, allowing himself to be pulled onto the uncomfortable seat cushions. “Gonna be in for a long wait; might as well.” His body was aching from the battle, feeling drained as the adrenaline evaporated.

Pillowing his head on Steve’s uncomfortable hard chest, he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about the possibility that they wouldn’t be found, the possibility that they would just remain adrift in the void of space until the life pod ran out of power, the possibility of dying out here, so far from home, in the cold emptiness, surrounded by nothing but the light of the stars, the possibility that he would never hear Steve’s laugh or feel the touch of his lips ever again.

He pushed all thought from his mind, praying that sleep would come.

The shadows enveloped them as they drifted through space, the uncertainty of their future suspended in the life pod along with them.

-8-

He woke with a gasp, his eyes flying open. The darkness was softened by the streaking lights that passed by the front window. He blinked as he struggled to catch his breath, and the warm body beside him stirred.

A hand brushed the long strands of hair from his forehead, and a familiar face came into view.

“S-Steve?” he said, the word escaping from his lips.

“Hn? What is ‘Steve’?” asked his Captain’s deep voice.

“I… It… I call you Steve,” he said, the words sounding strange in his mouth, but somehow, he felt them stir something deep inside him. It felt… familiar, in a way that seemed impossible.

The man’s brows drew together.

“I call you Steve,” he said, and as his mouth repeated the sounds, he was more confident that it was right.

“Bucky?”

It was his turn to frown. This sound, too, was familiar, but he couldn’t understand why.

“Bucky,” said the deep voice, more confident than before. “I call you Bucky.”

He looked deep into a set of familiar eyes, and this, above all else, anchored him, cemented in him a feeling he didn’t know how to describe. Was that… his name?

“Okay,” said the sold- no, that wasn’t right; “Okay,” said _Bucky_.

-8-

Hushed voices echoed through the small crowd of personnel gathered near the ship as Vasily Karpov disembarked from his transport. His cane tapped against the floor loudly, echoing off the landing hanger’s distant walls. A retinue of guards greeted him at the base of the ramp, taking up positions around him as they led him towards the exit. As they passed through the wide doors, the old man glanced back to the ship that had shuttled him over from the _Harbinger_. Its boarding ramp was retracting, and as the doors began to shut, the shadows underneath its wings flickered.

Karpov smiled.

Whispers trailed after him as he was led through the large command vessel, tickling the edges of his hearing as the guards’ boots stomped rhythmically along. This was a moment of triumph. After decades of brooding in the shadows, Hydra was finally poised to take control of the galaxy. The founders of SHIELD would be rolling in their graves if they knew that an esteemed Head of Hydra was now being escorted through the hallowed halls of one of their most heavily fortified bases as an esteemed guest.

The guards stopped in front of a large set of doors, stepping aside to allow Karpov to come forward. Lifting his cane, he rapped the rounded handle firmly on the door, and a moment later, they swished open, revealing a large, well appointed office.

The chamber was spacious and heavily decorated in an old, classical style. Shelves of antique computing equipment lined one wall, and a large painting adorned the other. While a real, oakwood desk sat at the far end, the majority of the space in the middle was taken up by four pieces of large, plush furniture, the seats upholstered in luxurious silken velvet, arranged around an intricately carved coffee table. The whole room oozed with opulence.

“Vasily,” said the man seated in a large, high-backed armchair. Standing, he placed the cup of fine china on its saucer as he stood. The once golden hair upon his head was beginning to gray, and the deep wrinkles on his face underscored a pair of piercing eyes.

“Alexander,” Karpov said in greeting as the doors swished closed behind him.

“Welcome, have a seat. Coffee?” offered his host, gesturing to the old-style French press sitting beside an empty cup and saucer.

“That would be excellent,” said Karpov and he made himself comfortable on the sofa opposite the armchair.

“Milk?” asked Alexander as he poured a steaming cup of the black elixir.

“And a dash of sugar.” Karpov accepted the cup, taking a sip as his colleague resumed his seat. The coffee’s deep, bitter aroma filled his nose, and the warm drink danced across his palette, a complex interplay of flavours. “It’s very good,” he said, setting down the cup. He had always thought that Alexander was a man in possession of good taste.

His host smiled. “Thank you. And may I congratulate you on a successful mission.”

“I think congratulations are in order for both of us, it seems.”

“Quite true, but if the operation at the _Lemurian Star_ had not been victorious, the council would not have moved to accelerate the launch of Project Insight. It is a pleasure to have you aboard on this momentous occasion.”

“It is a pleasure to have been invited,” Karpov replied. “The proceedings will begin soon?”

Alexander nodded. “The members of the Security Council will be arriving shortly; we’ll join them on the bridge for the initiation of the launch.”

Karpov grinned. “What an auspicious day to usher in a brand new galactic era,” he said, raising his cup.

“Indeed,” said his host, taking a sip as well. “I presume your shadows have followed you aboard?” he asked, his eyes flickering up to the vent above the corner of the room.”

“Of course,” said Karpov. His colleague had always been a strong ally and supporter of the Winter program, and Alexander seemed to have developed a soft spot for the two operatives under his control. “ _Zima Kapitan_ , _Zima Soldat_. Come. Show yourselves.”

The vent cover lifted, and the two assassins materialized out of the shadows, dropping into the room without so much as a sound and stalking up to stand behind their commander.

Alexander smiled, showing his gleaming white teeth. “Captain. Soldier. Welcome.”

Dressed in their black tactical gear and armed to the nose, the two assassins stood as two statues, poised to spring into action.

“The infamous Fists of Hydra,” Alexander continued. “You have helped Hydra shape the course of history for nearly a century, and today, you will help us do so once more.”

Karpov hid a smile. He never understood Alexander’s need and drive to woo everyone around him; it must have been to satisfy some deep personal insecurity. Thankfully, the man had long ago stopped treating him like that; Karpov felt it was paternalistic and frankly rather insulting for it to be directed at someone of his position and stature.

A soft chime rang out, and Alexander looked at his comm device.

“Ah, the Council members have arrived. It looks like we are about to begin,” he said, replacing his cup on the table and standing from his seat. “Shall we head to the bridge?”

Karpov nodded. “Very well,” he said, using his cane to push himself up.

Silently, the two assassins melted back into the dark, disappearing into the depths of the ventilation system.

-8-

“Are you sure you’re up for this, kid?”

Peter grunted as he slipped his arm into his black body suit, the pain blossoming over his chest as it stretched. “I’m fine,” he snapped.

“It’s been two days!”

The short man shrugged. “I heal quicker than normal humans.”

The blonde man eyed him critically as he shouldered his quiver. “That might be true, but even still, there’s no way that your broken ribs are completely fixed. I can still see the bruising,” he said, pointedly eyeing the exposed half of Peter’s chest as he wriggled around to get to the other sleeve.

“I’ll be fine; I can handle to pain.”

A scoff made both of them turn. “Just don’t slow us down, kid.” The woman was dressed in a high quality suit, tailored and looking business sharp.

“I won’t,” said Peter with determination.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Clint said. “This is a pretty straightforward op; we can handle it.”

He shook his head. “No, I wanna go with you. I… there’s a good chance that the Captain and Soldier will be there, and if they are, you’ll have a better chance if surviving if I’m there with you.”

Clint and Natasha shared a look over Peter’s head as he zipped up his suit.

“Alright then,” said Clint.

“Curtain call, boys, it’s show time.”

-8-

Alexander, bless him, had known how much he hated to stand for long periods of time, especially at his advanced age, and so a special seat had been brought to the raised command deck that overlooked the bridge. The seven members of the Security Council had given him strange looks when they had arrived but asked no questions after Alexander had gently explained that he was a VIP. They now all stood idly around, holding tall flutes of champagne, the pale blue bubbling liquid of the highest calibre.

The Insight fleet that Alexander had designed was state of the art; galactic canons the size of small planetary moons ominously in the centre of the shipyard, the final touches on preparations being made. They would have the fire power and range of never before seen proportions. These weapons would allow Hydra to take down planets that were lightyears away, extending the reach of their power beyond anything other technology. They would be able to wipe out entire cells of resistance with the touch of a button.

Smiling, Karpov took a sip of the fine liquor, savouring its taste.

On the bridge below, officers were shouting orders. The soldiers moved like ants in a colony – scurrying to and fro with docupads clutched tightly in their hands, other sitting at their consoles typing away and speaking into their headsets.

When the launch sequence was initiated, the Council members gathered around the wide, expansive glass viewing shield. The engines on the three largest canons flared to life, the scaffolding and docking ships around them falling away.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Alexander. “Today marks the success of the greatest security project the galaxy has ever seen. It was a long road to this moment, but Project Insight has become fully realized. With this fleet, SHIELD now has the power to ensure the security and peace of the entire galaxy, all from the comfort of the Inner Systems.”

The Council members gave a small smattering of applause, looking pleased with themselves.

“Now, I believe we have a small test arranged, as a demonstration,” Alexander continued.

Several of the Council members looked eager, nodding with excitement.

“We have selected a target two sectors over; a small, industrial planet we believe has been manufacturing weapons for rebel cells in the Outer Rim.”

Karpov smirked. Unbeknownst to the other people here, the real target was not so innocent. It was a major base of operations for SHIELD field agents, and housed a little known intelligence archive that had been the primary hub for tracking Hydra’s movements.

“Lets get Insight Alpha fired up, shall we?” asked Alexander, motioning to the crew to start.

“Before we begin,” said one of the Councillors, setting down her drink on a nearby side table, “would you care to explain something, Director Pierce?”

“Oh?” said Alexander as he turned to the woman who had spoken. She was dressed in a pale auburn suit, a necklace of large Estallacian pearls adorning the skin of her exposed neck.

“Could you please tell us why you have invited a top ranking Hydra official to the proceedings today?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in Karpov’s direction.

“I’m sorry?” said Alexander.

A murmur rippled through the remaining Councillors with frowns and pinched foreheads.

“This is Commander Vasily Karpov, known in the intelligence community as The Harbinger of Winter, is it not?” she asked, gesturing to the man in question.

Karpov raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond.

“You must be mistaken,” Alexander said smoothly.

“Oh, but I beg to differ,” she said. “I recognize the esteemed Commander Karpov,” she said, reaching up with one manicured hand. Her fingers glided over her face, and as they did so, it shimmered and blinked, the hologram fading to reveal a round face, green eyes, and fiery red hair. Suddenly there was a plasma pistol in her hands, pointed directly at Pierce. “I had the misfortune of crossing paths with him, once upon a time.”

Karpov squinted at the woman; her face seemed… familiar, for some reason, though he could not place where he had seen it before.

“Agent Romanov, how kind of you to join us,” said Alexander. “But I wonder, what have you done with Councillor Hawley? And why?”

“The Councillor is safe, I assure you. She has been updated on the situation and authorized me to take her place today.”

“And to what end, may I ask?”

“To inform you that you are hereby relieved of your position, sir. As a Head of Hydra, Councillor Hawley felt that you do not belong in our organization.”

Another murmur rippled through the remaining council members.

Alexander sighed. “I’m afraid I’m going to ask you to lower your weapon, Agent Romanov.”

“Or what?” she asked.

Alexander shrugged, taking a sip of his champagne.

Suddenly, the red haired woman cried, out, dropping her pistol as her body jolted, falling to the floor in convulsions.

“Such a shame, Agent Romanov,” Alexander said as he removed his hand from his pocket, revealing a remote. “I was really hoping to avoid that.”

The other Councillors exploded into shouts, demanding to know what was going on. Karpov watched from his seat, assessing each one. Several appeared to be skeptical about Pierce’s motives, while other seemed to be more inclined to believe that Agent Romanov had turned against SHIELD.

A high-pitched twang rang out, and Karpov barely spotted the shock arrow flying through the air, aimed directly at Pierce, before a ringing _clang_ resounded, the deflected arrow bouncing to the ground as a round shield embedded itself into the metal in front of Alexander’s feet.

Karpov smiled at the Hydra emblem painted onto the disc.

Crying out in shock, the Councillors stepped back.

Councillor Singh let out shout, pointing at the glaring red symbol. “Explain yourself!”

Pierce sighed, pressing the button on his remote control. All six remaining councillors screamed, falling to the floor with convulsions, knocked unconscious by the electric surge. “I was _really_ hoping to avoid doing that too,” he said mournfully.

Karpov stood. “It’s unfortunate, yes. We’ll have to cook up something good to feed the United Planetary Alliance to explain this.”

Alexander nodded. “Agent Barton,” he called towards the ceiling from where the arrow had come. “It’s no use hiding; we know where you are. Surrender now, before we’re forced to have another accident.”

A grate was pulled aside, and Agent Baron dropped down onto the platform.

“There now, that’s better.”

“You haven’t won just yet,” said the bow-wielding man.

"Oh, but I beg to differ. You are one lone agent; what could you possibly do to stop us?"

Suddenly, Agent Romanov sprang to her feet, firing her pistol at them both.

The metal tiles beneath them exploded, shrieking as they yielded. Erupting from the floor, the Winter Soldier surfaced like a breaching shark, bursting out from the waters below. In one swift motion, he snatched up the shield, deflecting the plasma shots one after the other.

A moment later, the Winter Captain dropped down from his place in the ceiling, and the two of them took up a fighting stance, blocking the path to the two Heads of Hydra.

The two agents stared down the two assassins, and for a moment, both pairs sized each other up, all four of them tensed, ready to strike.

Then, all of them were moving, as though an unspoken start had been announced.

Karpov watched with clinical interest as _Zima Kapitan_ and _Zima Soldat_ methodically pushed back to their opponents. It was clear that Agent Romanov was skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but Agent Barton was not, and she wasn’t good enough to fend off the onslaught of two of the deadliest assassins in history with only a glorified sniper for back-up.

The four were a flurry of limbs and flashing weapons. Barton was clearly trying to get a shot past them, aiming for Karpov and Pierce, but each shot he loosed was swatted away like an errant fly by one of the two assassins.

Barton shouted in agony when _Zima Soldat_ landed a good throw, the hilt of his knife protruding from his thigh, and he crumpled to one knee, grimacing in pain as he dropped the arrow in his hand.

Karpov grinned. “Finish it!” he commanded, feeling the excitement bubbling up within him.

 _Zima Kapitan_ raised his shield, its razor edge gleaming in the harsh fluorescent lights.

He was about to bring down the weapon when a high pitched shot rang out, catching the Captain in the shoulder. Grunting, the Captain staggered back, and Agent Romanov advanced on the opening, landing a solid two-booted kick to his chest, sending him skidding across the floor.

Karpov squinted; the shot had come from elsewhere, on their left flank.

 _Zima Soldat_ growled, his deep voice threatening as he sprang forward.

Another shot sounded, and the Soldier dodged, turning to face their new opponent.

Jumping up from the bridge below, the newcomer landed on the platform in a crouch, his black tactical bodysuit striated with silver.

The smile slipped from Karpov’s face.

“A Spider!” he cried, pointing a gnarled finger at the offending traitor. “I knew it! Von Stucker, that conniving, snivelling, insufferable upstart! _Zima Kapitan_! _Zima Soldat_! Squash that spider!” Karpov commanded.

-8-

The direct command burrowed its way into his mind, and he obeyed, springing forward with his Captain, his fists raised.

The Spider’s face was hard, looking resolute. His square jaw was clenched, his wavy, brown hair framing the firm look in his brown eyes.

Recognition registered in his mind as he threw the first punch, his gleaming metal arm flashing under the lights as it moved.

Spider 616 dodged, slower than he had on the _Lemurian Star_ but still fast enough to evade.

The move brought them closer together, and the Spider’s hand swiftly reached out, the rough pads on his woven gloves brushing ever so slightly against the sliver of exposed skin above his mask as the Spider veered.

“Bucky,” the Spider’s voice whispered, “it’s me, Peter.”

The sound of his name sent a shock through him, his eyes widening.

His muscles locked, his body rooting him in place as the Captain struck forward.

Spider 616 ducked, the shield passing above his head. “Steve,” he whispered, his fingers gently grazing the man’s knee, just before the Spider rolled back in retreat.

The Captain paused, breathing heavily. Wide blue eyes looked back, searching his face, as though to say, _what’s going on_?

“What are you waiting for?” screeched Karpov. “Finish him!”

When the both of them hesitated, a dark look passed over the commander’s face. Reaching into his coat pocket, Karpov withdrew a plasma gun and fired at the agent clad in black and silver.

In a flash, the Captain’s body shifted, deflecting the incoming shot.

“W-What? What are you doing?” demanded Karpov. He fired to more shots, and the Captain deflected both.

“Vasily,” said Alexander, his measured voice drawing out the name. “What are they doing?”

“I don’t know!” Karpov spat. “ _Zima Kapitan_ , _Zima Soldat_! Stand aside!”

Neither moved a muscle.

“So be it!” said Karpov. “желание,” he screeched.

The word punched through his skull like stake, hammering into his mind – _Longing_ – and he cried out in pain.

“Pжавые!”

 _Rusted_. The throbbing pain increased, and he clutched his head, falling to his knees.

“Tопка! Pассвет! Семнадцать!”

 _Furnace_. _Daybreak_. _Seventeen_.

His mind was splitting, tearing into pieces, and he screamed, his deep voice accompanied by another one, hoarse from disuse. His vision swam, barely able to make out the outline of his Captain’s body, lying on the ground beside him.

“Доброкачественный! Девять!”

 _Benign_. _Nine_.

The splitting pain increased, spilling down his spine and into his body. He rolled to the floor, tears streaming from his eyes.

“Stop him!” a voice cried.

“возвращение! Од-”

The word was cut off by a gargled, high cry, and another soon followed.

The pain flowed through him, running wild in his body, setting everything on fire. He felt as though he was being burned alive from the inside out, his nerves smouldering to ashes. He wreathed on the floor, knowing nothing but that searing agony.

For how long it lasted, he didn’t know, but it raged within him, consuming him and leaving nothing in its wake. It continued, washing over him, until there was no more fuel left to burn. Smouldering, slowly, it began to recede.

He blinked, his muscles and joint creaking in protest.

It was dark, the lights having flickering out. Klaxons blared, filling the air with overwhelming noise.

A figure crouched down in front of him.

“Bucky! Are you okay?” asked a voice, and a hand touched him gently on the shoulder.

He groaned in response, his limbs moving like molasses.

“Can you stand?” asked the voice.

Letting out a shaky breath, he willed his legs to move, and slowly, with much support, he got to his feet. “We gotta get outta here.”

He looked towards the source of the voice. A familiar face came into view; sweaty and soot covered, with hair sticking up in all direction, the expression split by a strained smile.

Peter.

“Come on, this way!”

As he was pulled towards a doorway, his eyes flicked over the scene. Scraps of broken metal and shards of equipment were scattered about. The heaps of two bodies lay in the corner, their finely tailored suits stained with blood, the wrinkled faces ashen.

“Bucky,” said a voice, the word uttered with reverence.

He looked up.

Steve was leaning against the door, one arm curled around his stomach.

“Steve,” he breathed, reaching out.

He took Steve's arm, clutching the man close as they moved forward.

“Hurry up!” said a voice, and the two looked up to see Agents Romanov and Barton, urging them forward.

Together, the five of them raced through the ship as fast as they could. Explosions rocked them as they fled down hallways, down to the hanger at the base of the ship. Power had gone out in the sector when they reached it, and they wasted precious minutes opening the door that had been wedged shut. Inside, an array of fighters, transports, and shuttles were docked. The battle ship, in the midst of its self destruction, had knocked a fair number of the ships off their holders, sending them crashing into one another.

Agents Barton and Romanov dashed towards the far corner, where a medium sized quinjet was docked. Barton pulled out a remote, a light flashing as he clicked it. The jet whirred in response, its landing ramp unfolding as they approached.

As the SHIELD agents were dashing aboard, he could feel Steve’s footsteps slowing, and he matched the pace, coming to a stop at the base of the ramp.

Inside, Romanov was typing into a keyboard at a terminal near the entrance, Barton having dived into the cockpit to start up the engines.

“Guys?” asked Peter, halfway up the ramp.

Steve frowned, looking up at the ship.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, taking a step towards them.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Agent Romanov, who was looking down at them from the hold.

Peter followed his gaze, and then looked back to them. “It’s okay, you can trust them. They helped me, and they can help you too.”

Romanov nodded. “You can come with us. We’ll keep you safe.”

“Agent. SHIELD,” said Steve.

“Yes, we’re with SHIELD.”

Steve shook his head, and together, they took a step back. “Hydra is SHIELD.”

“I know that Hydra was working under the hood, but we’re weeding them out; we’ll make sure they don’t get their hands on you again.”

“No,” said Bucky.

Romanov stepped forward. “Look, I know what it’s like, to have lost everything you once thought was true." She paused. "I know you don’t remember me, but I was Hydra once too. SHIELD helped me, they gave me my mind and my life back. They can give yours back too.”

Steve took another step back.

“We can fight Hydra. We could use your help – I know you don’t remember much now, but we could use your skills. Come and help us rebuild; help us shape the future for the better.”

“No more,” said Bucky.

They retreated a step.

“Wait!” cried Peter, a look of anguish on his face. “Where are you going?”

“Away,” said Steve.

Bucky nodded.

“No SHIELD,” said Steve. "No Hydra. No fight."

Peter looked devastated, the wound clear in his eyes.

Bucky hesitated for a moment, before offering his outstretched hand.

Brown eyes darted from the hand to his face, and back again.

“Come?” he asked.

“You… want me to go with you?”

They nodded.

Excitement and happiness burst across the boy’s face for a brief moment before it was overtaken with concern. “But…” he said, turning to Agent Romanov.

The woman sighed. “If you want to go, you can go, Peter,” she said.

“But, I promised to help you, in return for saving me.”

“You already have, kid.”

The boy looked conflicted.

“If you’re still worried about your debt, then send us everything you know about Hydra when you get to a safe place. The intel will put us leagues ahead.”

“I… okay,” Peter said, nodding. “Thanks. I really… just… thank you. For helping me save them.”

Natasha smiled. “Be sure to take care.”

Peter beamed. “I will.

-8-

The soft, electronic bell chimed as the front doors swished open. A blast of heat rushed into the room, displacing nice cool air conditioned atmosphere inside.

Wanda put down her docupad, where she had been reviewing the last month’s finances. “Welcome to A Vision of Paradise,” she said with a warm smile.

The three men walked into the lobby, looking around as the doors closed behind them. Two of them, older, were large and broad; beneath the baggy and worn clothes she could tell that their bodies were made of solid muscle. One was wearing a red sweater under a faded green jacket, an old cap pulled over his eyes. Long, dark hair framed his face, and a fair amount of stubble grew over his chiseled jaw. The second, slightly taller than the first, was wearing a hoodie and hat, a pair of wide sunglasses sitting upon his sharp nose, blocking her view of his eyes. A full beard of sandy blonde hair carpeted the lower half of his face.

The third, a young man, shorter and thinner than the other two, approached her.

“Hi,” he said happily, smiling nervously as he placed his hands on the counter between them.

“How can I help you?” Wanda asked, brushing a stray lock of her long hair behind her ear.

“We’re looking for a room?” asked the young man.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” said Wanda. “Our inn is one of the best around! Granted, there aren’t many in this neck of the woods, but we do our best,” she said.

“That sounds great. We're staying for a while, so I hope that's okay?”

Wanda nodded. “We should have something for you; let me just see what we have available.” Moving over to the computer on the side, she logged into the system. As she typed, her eyes followed the two men as they wandered across the lobby to look at the rack of colourful brochures on display. “Are you all here for the rocks? Or the scenery?” she asked.

“Um, pardon?” asked the young man, his shoulders tensing.

Wanda smiled. “Sorry, it’s just that, the Sokovian System is pretty far off the beaten track. The only thing around these colonies are the mines and the mountains. People passing through are either laborers looking for work in the mines, or tourists looking to hike in the mountains.” This young man looked a little on the thin side to be suited for the mines, but the other two were built like tanks, and it was hard to tell whether they were drifters looking for work, or outdoorsy travelers that were looking for an open-air challenge.

“O-Oh,” said the young man, his face softening. “We’re tourists, just here to take in the scenery,” he said with a smile. “Heard that it’s pretty gorgeous around these parts.”

“I might be biased, but I think it’s the most beautiful place in the galaxy,” she said with a small laugh.

“Have any recommendations?”

Wanda nodded. “I can give you a map, right after we finish checking you in,” she said, turning her docupad towards them. She showed the young man a few of their rooms, and he selected one. Bringing up the paperwork, Wanda recited their policies.

As the young man was entering his payment information, one of the men came up to him, holding a brochure in his gloved hand.

“Dad? What is it?” asked the young man.

The other man handed him the paper, ducking his head so his long hair fell in a curtain around his face.

“What’s this? Oh, a museum!”

The man nodded.

“Ya okay, this looks great! We can check this out after we get settled.” He turned back to Wanda, giving her a smile as he finished up.

“Great, you’re all set,” Wanda said, retrieving their keys. “Your room is just up the stairs, down the hall, and on your left. If you need anything, I’ll be here until dinnertime. My brother will be at the front desk overnight, so don't be afraid to come down and grab us if you need. I hope you enjoy your stay!”

The young man smiled. “Thanks, we will.”

She watched the family cross the hallway, disappearing into the stairwell. She hoped they enjoyed their vacation. Turning back, she picked up her docupad again. The finances weren't going do themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> To elaborate on the dub-con warning: there is a scene where Bucky and Steve engage in a sexual act immediately after their memories have been wiped; although both are fully consenting, some might argue that the circumstances might be similar to drunk sex where one might argue that the parties involved are not capable of giving consent.


End file.
